Frame of Reference
by Kasai Ame
Summary: A desperate mission of the Order turns disastrous. Hermione is embraced and swallowed by a dozen glittering timeturners, taking her to a most unexpected place. Trapped or saved? Like time, it all depends on your frame of reference. AU, SBHG slight HGRL
1. Failed Heroics

**Author's Note: Re-edit. **Despite my promise to never write a multi-chapter piece again, I'm doing it. I love lying to myself. But I was completely inspired by the works of Rurouni Star, who got me hooked on SB/HG. She writes some amazing stuff kiddos, check it out for yourself.

Please remember that this is an AU storyline! Haha, obviously, right?

* * *

Panic. Absolute, heart-wrenching fear. It filled Hermione's heart as she realized she had run straight into a dead end. The men behind her had nearly caught up, laughing and teasing her as they knew they had won.

"Come on, sweetie, don't run so fast!" chuckled a tall, bald wizard close behind. "There's nowhere to hide! Make it easy on yourself!"

He was right; the room she had run into had no exits or places to hide. Just a few scattered tables cluttered with dark, glittering objects and a huge shelf that covered the back wall of the room. Hermione could hardly breathe as she ran to the back corner of the room, searching the shelves desperately for some weapon or distraction or _anything_. She cursed as her pale hands pushed aside an enchanted violin and jewel-studded hairbrush.

"Oh, God_damn it_, don't _do_ this," she cursed breathlessly. She'd been here before, only two years ago, in this place that held the Ministry's darkest secrets and possessions. This room had held an assortment of weapons then, she remembered! All she could see here were ancient baubles and artifacts that perhaps belonged to famous witches and wizards.

The men, three of them dressed in billowing black robes, appeared at the large doorway behind her. Hermione was searching the shelves just above her on her tiptoes, hoping to find a wand or glass object that she could throw, have it shatter at their feet, giving her a moment to get away. Her fingertips grasped the edge of something large and heavy…

"_Stupefy!"_

Hermione gasped as she felt the object above her head slip off the edge and crash to the ground. The Death Eater's spell should have knocked her off her feet, but the impact never came.

The glassy-eyed girl looked down at the ground in amazement, mindlessly picking up the enormous black shield that had saved her. Heavy, but apparently effective in blocking spells. _Too perfect._ With effort she raised the shield to cover her head and torso and ran to the other corner of the room. The four men overcame their surprise and began to head for her again. The young witch fought to think, but fear had numbed her senses.

_I will not die here. I will not die here, not now, not on our graduation night. Harry, where's Harry? Did he get the Horcrux? Where is everybody? Oh no, I'm not going to die here, not here, no, no, no, no…_

Something large and golden glittered on the wall before her, just beyond her reach. Her heart leapt and she reached out to snatch it, hoping feverishly it was a sword of weapon of some kind. But, as Fate would have it, she never got the chance. The large, bald Death Eater suddenly slammed into her shield and knocked her off balance into a large glass display case. It shattered beneath her head, causing spots and stars to burst before her eyes.

Blood rubies scattered across the floor in every which way. Hermione pushed blindly at the strong hands that had grabbed her arms and pulled her up off the floor.

"You're a load of trouble, you filthy little mudblood. Seems a shame to waste such pretty flesh, though," spoke a short man with spiked blonde hair. A dramatic sigh escaped him as his fingers twisted in her hair. Hermione flinched.

"_You're disgusting_," she hissed. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling hard on her scalp. The young witch bit down on her lip, refusing to cry out.

"Say, Anthony, what do ya' think mudblood tastes like?" he asked with a smile.

"Like dirt. Just get this over with." The older man muttered, hiding his face carefully beneath his hood.

"We've got all the time in the world," the blonde crooned, his fingers moving to the collar of her school robes. "Crabbe and Charles have the little red-head and her two friends. I expect Goyle has already taken care of that ratty wolf-man. Been looking for him for a while, haven't we darling?"

Hermione stiffened, eyes narrowing. Lupin, Ginny, Neville, Luna… She prayed silently they were alright. But Harry, they obviously hadn't gotten Harry yet. They wouldn't be able to, not with Tonks and Kingsley and Moody there protecting him.

"Got something to say, love?" he whispered, lips brushing against her cheek. The poor girl shuttered, fury pulsing through her veins. The bald man grinned, turning to whisper something to 'Anthony'.

"_Go to Hell_." Hermione spat viciously, holding her head a little higher and giving the blonde man a very level look. Like in the chess games she was so used to playing, the powerless girl had reviewed every possible move she could make. There was no way to escape these four armed and dangerous wizards alone, Death Eaters no less, one of whom was carrying her wand in his pocket. Whatever tortures they were planning, Hermione knew too well that she'd rather be dead than discover them. No, she wanted to die bravely fighting until the end, not crying and begging for death at the feet of these filthy bastards. The world would expect no less from one of Harry Potter's closest friends. It didn't even matter that they probably wouldn't care. She expected no less from herself.

The spiky-haired blonde spat on her and grinned madly as the saliva slipped down her neck and disappeared beneath her school robes, leaving tiny droplets of spittle on the lion emblem on her chest.

"Do you know how pleased he'll be? The master's been waiting for Harry Potter for some time now, you know. With all the damage you've been doing, the master's been _so_ angry. It's a shame he doesn't have his full strength back, but that'll change, won't it?"

_The Horcruxes. Tell me Harry got this one. Tell me he's destroyed the fourth one. Oh my God, don't tell me they've got him. I don't believe it. I _won't_ believe it. This isn't how I wanted my graduation night to go…_

This time his tongue slid over her ear, teeth pulling gently on her earlobe. Hermione struggled vainly against his hold on her and felt her stomach turn and knot in terrible ways.

"He's all tied up, right there in the room of prophecies. Do you want to see him? Perhaps we'll make him watch as I torture you slowly. Cut off a few fingers, a little _Crucio_, maybe mangle you up to a point where they won't be able to recognize your body." The blonde purred, eyes alight with insanity as he pulled on her hair again. Hermione gasped, but held still. If she got out of this, somehow, she was going to kill him. She would kill _all_ of them. Harry needed her now, and Lupin, and Ginny. They needed her and she couldn't reach them.

"And I-" he began, looking as if he had some particularly disgusting something to whisper into her ear. But the bald man suddenly laid a hand on his shoulder, turning to look out the doorway into the darkened hall. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came.

The room echoed with a sickening crunch as the bald man fell to his knees and collapsed lifelessly to the ground. A shadow reared up behind him and let out a wild cry as it lunged forward.

The Death Eater holding her paled and threw her to the side, pulling his wand out with quick and stumbling fingers. There was barely a second's pause before a stone tablet collided with his head as well, sending him sprawling across the floor. Hermione froze as the shadow moved towards her, dropping the half-broken tablet to the floor and reaching a hand out towards her neck…

A soft, tattered robe sleeve wiped away the spittle from her cheek and neck. Hermione almost cried in relief, squeezing Lupin's hand as he pulled her away from the two unconscious bodies on the floor. Anthony had disappeared amidst the confusion.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, stopping to reach into the bald man's pocket for her wand. Lupin nodded slowly, his eyes smoldering and muscles twitching. Deep inside her heart, she could see the werewolf in him clawing to get out. Four days too early.

It was an effect of heavy stress, activated as a very painful survival instinct. But now wasn't a time to worry about that; it was giving him that extra boost of energy he needed, if nothing else. Hermione felt a smile tugging on her lips as she found her wand, feeling just a little relieved.

"Remus, where is everyone else?"

He remained silent. And it occurred to Hermione then that he hadn't spoken a word to her yet, and that they weren't flying down the hallway to rescue Harry or Ginny's band yet. Either something was finally going their way, or something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

To be honest, the last two years had been 'horribly wrong'. Dumbledore's death, Snape and Malfoy's disappearance, Harry running off on his own with Moody to train, her own desperate search for the Horcruxes with Lupin and what remained of the D.A., the deaths of more and more of their comrades…

"Hermione, this is unfair of me, but I need you to get out of here."

"Get out? I'm not going anywhere. They've got Ginny, Luna, and Neville just down the hall. If that hooded Death Eater hasn't got their attention already we can…"

Hermione stopped, staring at the awful, distressed look on his face. That once-handsome face now drained of all color, scarred and weary and old beyond all his years. Lupin shook his head now, staring deeply into her eyes.

"There's nothing we can do for them. Please Hermione, _leave_ _now_."

The young witch opened her mouth in protest, but the tired man before her seemed ready for it.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, but you must understand. W-we'll collect the bodies afterwards. You know how battles go, my dear, dear girl." The words were spoken so softly that Hermione feared she might have heard him wrong.

"_Harry_?" the young witch breathed, trying to process the information in her mind. It was too unreal.

"Alive. I can't say for sure about the others, but this is out of my control now. A worn-out wizard and a young witch, no matter how bright, cannot take on a full congregation of Death Eaters. The Ministry may have given us a few hours to search here, but they'll seal us up in here without a moment's hesitation if we're still here. I need you to get out, Hermione."

"To go _where_? To _get help_?_"_ she choked out, a few tears falling unbidden down her face. "Did you forget, Professor? The Ministry is neutral to our struggle! They won't waste reinforcements on us, not when they've already gone to the trouble of letting us in here. There's nobody left _alive_ to get help from!"

The older man twitched a little more, but his amber eyes were locked in deadly calm. "No, my dear, I haven't forgotten. But Arthur and Molly's boys, they'll take care of you until I get back."

"I'm not going anywhere," she gritted out. "I don't think they'll want to see me, what with Ron missing and their parents and sister _dead_. I'm not leaving you, Lupin. If you're going to rescue Harry, I'll be going with you."

A marred and shaking hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her closely into a tight hug. A long hug filled with 'thank you' and 'goodbye' and 'I'm so sorry' and so many other words.

"It's unfair of me, Hermione," he whispered, his head resting on her shoulder. The witch trembled, stubbornly unwilling to put her arms around him. They'd hugged so many times before, getting her through the nightmares and the funerals and the hopeless research that never seemed to fix their problems. But now that he needed her, she was unwilling to give.

"I just need you to be safe. Just one person, safe. Please do this for me. If I don't come back, I just need to know you're there, alive, and safe."

"Someone to carry on the fight when no one else is left," she whispered back, feeling his grip on her loosen. They'd spent too long in the room talking already, and now they needed to move, just the two of them, to get what nine had originally come for.

"Go, Hermione. I'll follow shortly behind, I promise." Remus said softly, releasing her slowly and backing away.

Hermione's attention was completely concentrated on the sudden plans she was furiously trying to come up with, trying to find a way around her old Professor or maybe someone else she could turn to for help. It was almost understandable, then, that she didn't see the five shadows coming down the hallway until it was too late.

One large wizard's stunning spell could have knocked her off her feet. Three powerful stunning spells sent her flying backwards, slamming with incredible force into the wall. It disrupted a hanging rack on the wall, the one that glittered brightly with gold, and it came crashing down over her head.

When the first shard of glass touched its edge to the cold floor, Time did a very cowardly thing. It covered its eyes, held its breath, and stood very still.

For one glorious, abstract moment, Hermione could see from behind the messy curtain of her curly hair the horrified expression on Lupin's face. He was turning towards her, ignoring the furious Death Eaters at his back, and was reaching out a hand to catch her. The two stunning spells that had been sent his way had bounced off his body, hardly affecting him the way they were intended to. Werewolves had always posessed an uncanny ability to deflect spells, and it was more evident than ever that Remus Lupin was quickly returning to that inhuman form.

Untimely werewolves were terribly dangerous creatures, even more so than their regular counterparts, and these bastards would realize that soon enough. She could see them, too; all five were only inches from her old mentor, their intentions painfully clear.

_Perfectly. Utterly. Useless._

It was a fleeting thought that raced through her mind as she fell to the ground for a second time, glass and gold overwhelming her vision.

_We graduated and died today. Oh God, I'm so useless…_

Amidst this sudden, suffocating chaos, Hermione was aware of something falling softly about her hair and neck. Long, looping chains of gold. Some fell to the floor, some shattered. One wrapped itself along the tips of her fingers, over the hand she had lifted upwards to shield her face.

Time started to breathe slowly again, beginning to peek between its fingers to see if it was okay to look. And when it did, it snapped back to attention and had a long, hard laugh at Miss Hermione Granger, Hogwart's most prized seventh year student and almost-savior of the wizarding world.

What then filled her senses was not the sound of Lupin's bewildered cry, nor the sensation of glass embedding itself into her skin. Instead, it was something much more strange and familiar.

It was the rush of _time_. And it came crashing down over her in a way far different from what she had ever remembered. It was folding and pushing against itself in an unnatural way, pulling at her in two separate directions with the strongest force she had ever experienced. Invisible lines cut through her where there should have been solid flesh and bone, locking into place and pulling apart as if they'd were razor sharp. Part of her was falling endlessly backwards, pushing her stomach up into her throat and sending her head reeling in shock and panic. Another part was flying forward, crying out in a silent scream for mercy.

For one terrifying second, or perhaps for a terrifying eternity, Hermione was lost in a sea of nothingness. Outside and inside her mind and body there was a deep, muffled blast that stripped her of her senses. And when the blast ended, solid ground slipped beneath her shaking legs. Glass-less, blood-less marble, accompanied by a very familiar and very empty room.

Hermione Granger was out cold before she hit the floor.

* * *

**Time is a very dangerous thing.  
That is the reality of things, so you'd better get over whatever romantic notions you had about it. Time travel is science, not history…  
Now, there are three things that you must remember before you explore time: mass cannot be created or destroyed. So no matter what happens, you will not disappear into oblivion when you flip that little timeturner in your hands. If you left from one place, you will indefinitely return to that same exact place no matter how far back in time you try to go.  
Also, time can be traveled only so far into the past, and never, ever the future. Any attempts to travel too far back will result in a fourth-dimensional whiplash that will most likely kill you.  
Lastly, at all costs, avoid trying to change the past. Bad things happen to people who meddle with it. If you can, drop this book and burry your time travel devise. It isn't worth the repercussions. An attempt to save an old friend or get rich will more likely than not unravel into your demise.  
The past should be left well alone…**

**-Introduction of "Dunce's Guide to Time Travel" by John Amos**


	2. Strange Awakening

**Author's Note:** Re-edit. I'm embarrassed at having to put a recap on here, but this is an AU storyline, and I have no desire to change the first chapter and make it easier to understand.

**Important Recap- you'll want to read this**: Dumbledore's Army and the remaining members of the Order snuck into the Department of Mysteries on their graduation night to grab and destroy the fourth Horcrux. The Ministry is neither aiding nor hindering the groups' search for the Horcruxes, leaving them without backup. The list of dead are as follows: Sirius, Pavarti, Cho, Dean, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Ron is counted as MIA. Harry, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley have been captured by Death Eaters, leaving Hermione and Lupin on their own. Those two were cornered by Death Eaters, and through a fateful mishap, Hermione crashed into a glass case of timeturners and was sent back in time. Last we saw our heroine, she was inside the Department of Mysteries, alone, and covered in glass and blood.

* * *

"How long was she lying there?"

_**The Dark Lord will rise again…**_

"Hours. I've never seen a case like this before. She nearly choked and drowned in her own pool of blood. And all those fractures in her bones… It just isn't right."

_**Get that thing away from Scabbers!**_

"I don't understand. No medical or insurance files, no visitors, no identification. It's like she doesn't exist."

_**I trusted you!**_

"This is the third time I've had to restart her heart. I'll be damned if she dies on my watch, Nurse Sarah. She's too young for her body to be shutting down like this."

_**He's my godfather, Hermione…**_

"REM cycle is unusually active. Poor girl's been dreaming for days, crying out and moaning like some ghost."

_**My Her-my-ow-ninny…**_

"Hm, best fetch the doctor. Our little Jane Doe here might be falling back into critical condition again. Let's check her vitals. I'll ge-"

_**10 points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all…**_

"They can't be serious. Have you read this report? They want a full investigation of her once she's stable. Honestly, they think she's in league with You-Know-Who."

_**Yes, Ms. Granger? Very good Ms. Granger!**_

"Sarah? Sarah! Quick! I think she's going into another seizure! Where the hell is that useless healer?"

_**Three turns should do it, I think. Good luck.**_

"Hold her down! Put that wand away, Nurse Catherine, no magic! Grab the restraints- that's it, good!"

_**It's unfair of me, Hermione…**_

"She pulled her stitches again. Blood everywhere… Christ, it's going to be a long night."

_**I just need you to be safe.**_

* * *

For a long time, all Hermione could remember was the darkness. Nothing registered with her brain; no sight, no sound, no feeling, no thoughts. But one day, a single sensation popped into her bruised mind. _Soft_. Something beneath her felt soft.

With difficulty, the young witch moved a fingertip along the mattress beneath her and the sheets that covered her body. _Soft… _Her finger slid across the folds of the fabric and gingerly touched skin of her other arm. _Pain_. And then it slid further up her arm to the wings of the plastic butterfly needle embedded there. To the plastic tube of her IV. To the solid metal railing of her hospital bed.

Slowly, painfully, the cogs in her brain creaked back to life. Hermione's tongue slid over her chapped lips tentatively, and her mouth opened to speak.

"Ah..." It was the best she could do. But it was enough. Exhausted and confused, Hermione Granger gripped tightly to the soft sheets that covered her and fell back into more troubled sleep.

* * *

"Mr. Bagwell! I don't know what you think you are doing, sir, but I assure you that you have absolutely no business in this ward!" A shrill voice pierced the ears of a certain sleeping witch, causing her to open her sleep-caked brown eyes. Immediately Hermione regretted it. A moan escaped the girl's soar throat as she squinted at the dim lights overhead.

"Nurse Catherine, this is Ministry business! I've waited for four weeks. Four weeks! I'm done waiting. That girl better be up and about, or so help me!" Mr. Bagwell shouted, his polished black shoes smacking loudly on the floor as he neared Hermione's bed.

"Geoffrey, I think perhaps you're going a bit too far. Let the child rest for a while longer." A familiar voice suggested.

"Shut up, Albus! And I mean that with the greatest respect. We don't even _know_ if she's really a Hogwart's student. You shouldn't be here." Bagwell countered. The tall, well-dressed man made his way past the small row of hospital beds that lined the white washed walls, most of which were empty. Not many patients got the privilege of staying in St. Mungo's High Security Ward.

Geoffrey Bagwell paused before one of the occupied beds, looking briefly at the chart clipped to the end of the bed.

"This is her, yes?" his voice boomed. "I don't see a name on the chart. Is she still nameless?"

The occupant of the bed twitched ever so slightly, causing her to moan quietly in discomfort. The young witch's body was mostly covered in thick, white gauze- pieces of which were stained with a mix of blood and iodine. Nurse Catherine made a noise of disapproval as she rushed to her patient's side.

"She hasn't spoken yet," the healer hissed. "We've only just been able to keep her in a stable condition. Why can't you just leave her alone for a little while longer, Bagwell?"

"_Because she's a danger to us all._" The Ministry man stated coldly. His spidery fingers grasped the medical chart, and he began to thumb through it. Albus Dumbledore stood silently by his side and stared thoughtfully at the miserable girl in bed. Hermione blinked slowly, wondering if she'd heard correctly. Her mind felt as if it'd been stuffed with cotton, and her throat felt so terribly raw, and her entire body hurt like hell. Breathing was painful enough. In all her pain and confusion, had she heard the man correctly?

Nurse Catherine suddenly took in a sharp breath and settled a thick hand over Hermione's bandaged one.

"Oh, goodness, you're awake!" Catherine exclaimed. "I'll go get you something for your pain. Be right back, my dear." She was a stout and curvy woman, but she sidestepped the two wizards and scurried out the door with surprising grace. Before she completely disappeared down the hall, however, the healer paused and sent a meaningful look towards the sharply dressed Ministry employee.

"Hands off, Bagwell. She isn't yours to question yet."

"My ass, she isn't." The aging man muttered, waiting until the determined healer was well on her way to St. Mungo's vast storeroom. Beneath Dumbledore's watchful gaze, Geoffrey reclipped the medical chart in his hand to the end of the bed and made his way to Hermione's side. She blinked up at the steely eyed man with wide brown eyes, not terribly sure what to make of him.

"What is your name?" he asked quietly.

"Geoff, I know you have Ministry authority, but maybe you should wait." Bagwell shook his head, not bothering to look Dumbledore in the eyes. It really was a challenge to look that old bat in the eyes and _not_ do what he asked of you.

"It's just a simple question, Albus. How unreasonable is it to ask somebody their name?"

"There's a chance she's still under the Imperius curse. Besides that, look at the poor child. She's hardly able to move, let alone speak to an intimidating man such as yourself."

Bagwell's eyes narrowed at Dumbledore's comment, though Hermione almost swore she could see the man smiling. He was indeed intimidating.

"Imperius? Don't be daft, old man. This is daring work- far too daring for some underling under a spell. Nobody has been able to infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. This is _Death Eater_ work." He muttered, reaching for Hermione's IV bag. She watched in horror as the Ministry man pulled two small objects out of his jacket pocket; a needle and a small vial of clear liquid. Albus Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"Don't do this, Geoffrey. You may have the Minister's permission, but I can't forgive you doing something like this to one of my students, if she is a student of mine."

This made Bagwell pause momentarily, though his eyes still refused to meet the headmaster's. His mind was made up, however, and his fingers continued to draw a miniscule quantity of liquid from the vial with the needle. Hermione made a noise of protest (much to her throat's displeasure) as the man inserted the needle into the top of her IV bag and injected the strange liquid inside. The three waited in heavy silence for the drugs to kick in.

"You are my witness to her testimony, Albus. I don't care what the council thinks about the legitimacy of using veritaserum; it's good enough for me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Bagwell, watching his image shift in and out of focus. Pain was giving way to nothingness in lightning speed.

"I am Geoffrey Bagwell, Chief of Ministry Security. You will answer all of the questions asked of you in absolute honesty. Do you understand?" Bagwell spoke, his voice the picture of authority. Hermione found herself nodding her head ever so gently in response.

"Good," he said. "Now, what is your name?"

"H-Herme…" the young witch began, pausing in wonder at the fiery sensation spreading through her throat, unable to even comprehend the simple need to throw up. Dumbledore strode to Hermione's side, pushing Bagwell aside, and quickly fished a small bucket out from under the hospital bed. It barely touched the area beside Hermione's pillow before she began to retch miserably into it. Each movement her body made set fire coursing through her. Her gasps and sobs of pain echoed through the small, quiet ward.

Dumbledore set a soothing hand on her bandaged back, waiting until her heaving ceased to wipe her face with a towel placed nearby. Hermione felt gratitude to the strangely familiar man. As she turned away from the bucket at her side, Bagwell resumed his interrogation.

"What is your name?"

Once again, her mouth moved of its own accord. "Hermi-" she paused, letting the nausea pass. "Grain." Another pause, a deep breath. "Gier."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"And how did you get inside the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione searched her mind, frustrated to find only broken pieces of a memory.

"The Minister," she breathed. "Had per-permiss-"

"The Minister of Magic's permission?" Bagwell asked incredulously. Hermione nodded.

"...permission for what?"

"No."

"No?"

"Secret. Can't…can't tell…" Bagwell's steely eyes smoldered with fury as she stared down at the bandaged girl.

"_Secret?" _he seethed. Hermione's brown eyes narrowed in confusion, fighting to remember, fighting to understand. _I swore an oath. Bound by magic. This man is not a member._

"You," she began carefully, "are n-not. Not part."

"Not part of what?" Bagwell hissed.

"The Order."

"Order? What bloody 'order'? Don't make a fool of me!" The Ministry man shouted. "Albus, you ask her the questions!"

A large hand settled comfortingly on Bagwell's shoulder. The Chief of Ministry Security turned to see Dumbledore smiling warmly at him.

"I think that's enough, Geoff. It's obvious her memory has been tampered with. I doubt she knows how she got into the Department of Mysteries…"

_I walked in_.

"…or why she was even in there..."

_The locket was there; the fourth Horcrux._

"…and I'm certain she wouldn't be able to identify whoever attacked her. Whoever hurt her used serious dark magic, Geoffrey. It was torture. Surely this girl isn't capable of doing such a thing to herself."

"It still doesn't feel right," Bagwell muttered darkly, eyeing Hermione with suspicion.

"You used a goodly amount of veritaserum. She obviously believes the Minister gave her permission to be inside the Department of Mysteries because she was a part of some 'order'. Do _you_ believe that?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle and friendly as he made Geoffrey Bagwell begin to doubt himself.

"I suppose not, but there's something not right about this. Are you sure she isn't using Occlumency to lie?" Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm positive. Would you like me to ask her a few questions and set your mind at ease?"

Bagwell opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment Nurse Catherine reappeared in the room looking slightly flushed and disheveled.

"Sorry, my dear, but there was an accident on the third floor. Took longer than I expected." She said, making her way to Hermione's IV bag. However, she paused at the sight of the vomit-filled bucket close to the miserable young witch's head.

"Bagwell, did you try to get her to talk?" The healer demanded loudly as she cleared away the mess with a few flicks of her wand. The Ministry man merely shrugged, watching as she bustled about.

"Actually, Nurse Catherine, I was about to ask her a few questions myself." Dumbledore interjected sweetly. She turned and grinned at the Hogwart's headmaster, forming dimples on her fat cheeks.

"I suppose that'd be alright then, if it's you. Just a few, mind you. And I can't say you'll get much out of her in any case," she added, nodding to the IV.

"So kind, Nurse Catherine. I was just going to ask her if she is indeed a student of Hogwarts."

"I-I was." Hermione muttered, feeling once more as if her mind were stuffed with cotton.

"But you're not now?" Bagwell asked. Nurse Catherine sent him a dirty look.

"…" Hermione wasn't sure what to say. She had indeed just graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but wasn't she still technically their student?

"Of course she isn't now!" The healer interrupted. "It's summer holiday."

"I don't think the question was directed towards _you_." Bagwell hissed. Nurse Catherine narrowed her eyes at the man and pointed to a large bag stuffed beneath the hospital bed.

"That there contains what is left of a Hogwart's school robe. She was wearing it when they found her."

"That's enough, if you please." Dumbledore interrupted. "Now, do you know who I am?"

"Yes…" Hermione breathed, her voice becoming more raw with every passing second.

"Who is he?" Bagwell asked.

"A ghost." And with that, the young witch closed her eyes and fell into a drug-induced sleep.

"Satisfied, Geoffrey?" Albus Dumbledore asked. Bagwell nodded in defeat.

"In that case, she is now under the charge of Hogwarts and _not_ the Ministry. Please have me notified when she is discharged from St. Mungo's, Nurse Catherine."

Albus Dumbledore then turned to his dour companion. "Come now, Geoffrey. You can look up all the information you desire on Miss Graingier when you return to the office. For now, I'm sure a good firewhiskey shall cheer you up. I know the most charming little pub…"

* * *

**Time is the fire in which we burn. **

**-Delmore Schwartz**

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, Hermione is now out of trouble with the Ministry and in the charge of Albus Dumbledore, a man who seems strangely familiar to her. Next time on 'Frame of Reference'- The Long Road Home. And yes, Bagwell is my little J. Edgar Hoover.


	3. The Long Road Home

**Author's Note: **Re-edit. I hate the way this chapter looks, since there's so much dialogue that's all spaced out.

You reviewers are amazing. Thank you so much for your support!

Here we shall discover what has happened to our dear Hermione. How much does she remember? What will become of her? Why won't anybody call her by her first name? Most importantly, does she know _when_ she is?

* * *

Three weeks worth of newspapers covered the many unoccupied beds and chairs of St. Mungo's High Security Ward. As Hermione had come to find, the ward stayed generally empty and harbored the more "minor" criminals. All dangerous witches, wizards, and magical creatures were collected immediately by Aurors once their major wounds were healed. You couldn't be too careful these days.

The small handful of patients in the room, tethered by powerful magic to their beds, watched quietly as the young witch bustled between the countless newspaper clippings, viewing each article and picture carefully. It was the second time this morning she'd gone through them all and breakfast had only just been served.

From down the hallway came the sound of tuneless humming and a squeaky wheel; Nurse Catherine with a pushcart of medical supplies.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Catherine greeted her favorite patient sweetly, beaming as Hermione paused in her reading to grin weakly back. The powerful nurse went about giving medicine to two very silent and sickly-looking wizards, checking their vitals and marking their charts, completely ignoring their glares and complaints of discomfort. Her third patient, however, was full to the brim with cheer.

"Good morning to you too, _sweetheart_." The youthful wizard cooed, his blue-tinged lips twisting into a lopsided grin. Catherine threw the man a weary glance before snatching his medical chart off the end of his bed.

"I'm not in the mood for your mouth this morning, Jeremy." A hearty laugh escaped his bruised throat and he shook his unruly mess of brown hair emphatically.

"I was just thinking," Jeremy began, his gruff voice reverberating through the quiet room, "that you could give me a shave, eh?" He brought a hand to his face and rubbed at his growing beard.

"Keep dreaming." The healer replied hotly. He merely chuckled as she set a cup of medication on his bedside table. His left eye crinkled good-naturedly; the right remained closed and crusted with blood.

"How come you don't treat me as nicely as you do Miss Graingier?"

"I actually behave." Hermione muttered distantly, her pallid face full of concentration as she read the Daily Prophet's "latest" article on fall fashion.

"I wish you wouldn't." Jeremy sighed. "I imagine 'naughty' Graingier would be quite a sight."

Catherine reached the last patient in the room, careful not to disturb some of the older articles and loose newspaper clips that had been set aside. The patient, an aging hobgoblin, looked up questioningly as the nurse checked his pulse.

"So," he whispered, "what's with the girl?"

"You're new." Catherine stated, turning to grab his medication off the pushcart. The hobgoblin nodded and waited for the nurse to continue. Instead, she turned to look at Hermione.

"Graingier, dear, I expect a shower to be open on one of the regular floors. Care to go?"

"…yes. Thank you." Hermione pushed herself off the edge of the bed she had been leaning on and stretched. This ward, of course, did not contain showers for regular use. It was too dangerous to move a High Security patient around. She grabbed a thin cotton robe from a nearby chair and slipped her arms into it. With shaking, still-bandaged fingers the too-thin witch pulled the soft fabric over her hospital gown and quickly pulled her long and embarrassingly unwashed hair into a hasty bun. Jeremy waited until Hermione and Nurse Catherine were down the hall and well out of earshot before speaking.

"Graingier has been here longer than any of us," he said, casting a sidelong glance at the hobgoblin.

"How long?"

"By Tuesday it'll be two months." The hobgoblin stared down at the scarred wizard with narrowed eyes.

"She doesn't look that sick to me."

Jeremy shrugged and turned his eye away from the glowering creature. "I came here four weeks ago, sent from ward to ward until I ended up here. Can't say I remember much about that first week, but what I saw of Graingier, she mostly slept. Sometimes she just walked around in a daze…that's when I noticed then that she didn't have any restraints on her- she's not a criminal like us."

"Criminal?" The hobgoblin sneered. "I'm no criminal. I didn't do a damn thing wrong."

"Sure you didn't." Jeremy's gravelly voice melted into a deep chuckle. "Anyways, that girl was completely unresponsive. I'd begun to think she'd had her soul sucked from her or something. But one night she sort of…became conscious, I guess."

* * *

_The young witch began to stir in her bed, catching Jeremy's eye. Her bandaged hands moved to touch her face and rested on her temples as if to relieve some great headache. _

"_Hello?" she called tentatively. The girl hurriedly pushed herself up in bed and scanned the white washed room with wide brown eyes. It was very dark inside the ward; at night the lights were dimmed and the High Security ward was usually kept locked up._

"_Remus?" her voice came again, softer and more timid. Jeremy sighed and readjusted himself on his pillows._

"_Some of us are trying to sleep, you know." The girl jumped slightly, obviously unaware that someone else had been in the room._

"…_this is St. Mungo's?"_

"_What other hospitals in Britain do you know of?" he snapped._

"_There are at least a handful of private ones."_

"_Well, this is St. Mungo's, smartass."_

"_Where's the healer? Is…is there anyone else here?" her voice was rising again, almost on the verge of panic._

"_It's shift change." Jeremy sighed irritably. As if on cue, the ward door rattled slightly and in entered a slip of a nurse. She made a noise of surprise as she recognized the young witch's upright figure._

"_Miss Graingier, do you need something?" she asked sweetly._

"_What happened to me?" she whispered._

_The young healer gave a hasty apology, unsure of how to answer, and told her that she would have to wait for those answers. Hermione fell silent then as Sarah did a quick check up on the high security patients. She had barely closed and locked the door before the tiny witch turned to Jeremy. A grave seriousness had settled over her._

"_How long have I been here?"_

"_What makes you think I know?" Jeremy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eye._

"_Your wounds are scabbed over- that takes a few days."_

"_You've been here longer," he replied. "Much longer. I don't know exactly how long, so don't ask." His gravelly voice took on a note of discomfort and he shifted slightly in his bed. Dim as the lighting may have been, Jeremy could easily see Graingier's body quivering in the shadows, her brown eyes glistening on the verge of tears._

_But she did not cry, and the strength in her voice did not waver._

"_Have I had any visitors?"_

"…_not that I've seen. Nurse Catherine would know better than I would, though. So, ah, just go to sleep, yeah?"_

_The young witch laid back down and spoke no more for the night. Her bandaged fingers rubbed the aching spot where her heart was as hope began to leave her._

'_Remus, you _bastard_. Where are you?'_

* * *

"That next morning," Jeremy sighed, "was pretty damn strange."

* * *

_Jeremy woke up to find Hermione sitting up in her bed, her curly brown hair drawn into a tight bun. She was calm and patient, waiting for her answers to walk through the door. Nurse Catherine was as surprised as Nurse Sarah had been as she entered the ward with her med cart._

"_Morning, sweetheart. Don't we look lively this morning!" she chirped._

"_How long have I been here?" _

"_Goodness, this is the first time you've spoken like this. I-I suppose it's been six weeks now."_

"_And have I had any visitors?"_

"_Yes, you had two. Don't you remember?"_

"_I can hardly remember a thing. Everything is…terribly fuzzy. Who visited?" Hermione's eyes brightened with burning hope._

"_Your headmaster and Chief Bagwell. That's so strange, you really don't remember…"_

_Jeremy lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. The little witch suddenly looked very pale. _

"_Is this a joke?"_

"_No, no joke. Why, what's wr-"_

"_You are telling me that my _headmaster_, Albus Dumbledore, and Geoffrey Bagwell of Ministry Security visited me?"_

"_Yes, darling! They came not two weeks ago."_

"_Oh." Graingier's eyes became wide, her bandaged hands gripping her sheets tightly. "Oh my God."_

"_You're starting to worry me. Is there something you need?"_

"_Yes," she whispered. "Where did they find me?"_

"_In the Department of Mysteries."_

"_Was I alone?"_

"_Yes. You were the only one the Aurors brought into here, and nobody was checked into the morgue."_

"_And what had happened to me?"_

"_Oh, dear, nobody's really sure of that. They say they found you covered in glass and blood, but nothing in the entire department had been disturbed. At least, that's what they said when they searched your belongings. You were dying."_

"_My injuries?" she asked softly. "I've been here so long; they must have been quite bad." _

_Catherine chuckled some as she made her way through the room in her daily routine. _"_Bad doesn't cut it. Every bit of you, inside and out, was either fractured or bruised. It's a miracle you made it here."_

"_And what of Dumbledore? He was really here?"_

"_Yes, chicky! He and Bagwell asked you a few questions, you know." Jeremy looked seriously over at the young witch._

"_You really pissed that bastard Bagwell off, talkin' about some Order he wasn't apart of…"_

"_The Order? God, what did I say?"_

"_Just that he wasn't supposed to know about it. He was convinced you were some minion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but the professor talked him out of it. Convinced him instead that you were a harmless victim of a Death Eater attack or some such thing."_

"_Yes," Catherine interjected, "he did. He said that when you're discharged, you're to go back to Hogwarts under his care."_

"_I'm to be a student there?" the young witch whispered._

"_Yes; I expect you'll be sent school shopping as soon as you're out- term is approaching quickly. You'll probably be excused from summer homework- isn't that nice?" Nurse Catherine asked with a smile._

"_Sounds delightful." Jeremy muttered as he finished the last of his numerous pills. "She just looks brimming with joy. I bet she's always had this much good luck with avoiding homework."_

_Catherine sighed and headed for the door. "Anything else, dear?"_

"_Yes," Graingier replied. "I'd like today's newspaper."_

_The nurse obliged her willingly and left that morning's Daily Prophet on her bedside table before taking her leave. Jeremy couldn't help himself from staring at the girl as she looked to the top of the newspaper page. For what seemed like ages, Hermione continued to stare at the headline of the Daily Prophet._

"_Sir," her voice came cautiously. "Wh-"_

"_Don't give me that 'sir' shit. My name is Jeremy. Use it."_

"_Jeremy, what is today's date?" The scarred wizard paused for a moment to calculate._

"_It should be August 6th." Hermione sighed in response._

"_Bagwell is indeed chief of Ministry Security? My God, I've stepped into _A History of Magic_." She chuckled, seeming more delirious than happy. Reality was teasing her._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I'm really in 1977?"_

"_Of course! Christ, what kind of meds are you on?"_

_Grainger's body, swamped by her bleak hospital gown, began to shake in little spasms. Jeremy was surprised and quite unsure of what to do, especially when the girl's eyes started to glitter with unshed tears. But with a deep breath she swiped them away and opened up the Daily Prophet in her lap._

"_We're going to need more newspapers." She said softly. "I need to see what I've been missing."_

* * *

The day after Jeremy's 'chat' with the hobgoblin, Hermione was officially released from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The heavily scarred wizard watched forlornly as Catherine came in to help the young witch prepare herself. Ministry officials were to come by in the afternoon and pick her up, in lieu of the ever-busy Dumbledore.

The young witch sat beside her hospital bed as Nurse Catherine stripped them of their sheets. She was wearing a fashionable set of baby blue robes (brought to her by Nurse Sarah) and had once again pulled her long hair upwards into a tight bun. Jeremy's eye flickered over Hermione's exceptionally pale skin and noted that not a scar was left on her. Only her bandaged fingers remained unhealed.

"You'll study hard, won't you? Seventh year is so important…" Catherine was saying. Hermione nodded vacantly in response. Everything still seemed so unreal to her; there were so many questions that needed to be answered, so many things she couldn't remember and so many things that would absolutely have to go unspoken. Nothing could be settled until she saw Dumbledore again- she would indeed have to return to Hogwarts as a student.

"Let me change those bandages one last time before you leave," her healer went on as she continued to clear away the evidence of Hermione's stay. "In all my years, I've never seen such a strange splinch!"

Jeremy watched curiously as Catherine took out her pieces of gauze, tape, and iodine- simple Muggle remedies. Never before had he seen the young witch's bandages being cleaned, nor any of her scars and wounds before they had been healed. The nurses usually led her away from the leering eyes of suspected criminals and into one of the more private rooms.

"You know, my dear, we still don't understand it. We haven't been able to use magical cures on your wound. Must have been some powerful dark magic!" The large woman chirped as she began to unravel Hermione's old bandages from both her hands.

"No, not dark," Hermione muttered, "Just powerful."

Jeremy's single working eye widened in surprise as the nurse tossed the old, dirty bandages into the hazard bin and began to wipe clean Hermione's fingers. Or, rather, what was left of them. Her left hand was intact, though a bit scarred, and Catherine seemed to be very pleased with it. With a little more time, she promised, it would be right as rain. The nurse didn't even bother to bind it.

Her right hand was a different matter. A good portion of her three longest fingers were missing. Simply not there, as if a searing blade had cut cleanly through them. Jeremy twinged in disgust as he saw that flesh had not grown over where the fingers had been sliced. The whiteness of the bones, the blood, the pinkness of the inner flesh were visible, as if someone had stopped the blood flow but forgot to replace the skin. Catherine doused the fingers with iodine and had just finished wrapping them up as a Ministry official arrived. Hermione hugged the curvy healer and gave a terse goodbye to Jeremy (much to his delight).

"I'll see you again, Graingier!" he called out as she followed the official out into the hall. The young witch snorted in that '_uh-huh, sure we will'_ sort of way before slipping out and disappearing from sight. The Ministry official was a short, balding man who remained absolutely silent until they reached a Muggle car parked nearby St. Mungo's entrance. As she buckled up, he turned and handed her a very, very familiar looked envelope.

"We're heading straight for Diagon Alley. I'll pick you up in three hours and take you to your room. Whatever shopping you don't finish today, you can do tomorrow." He grunted. Obviously this man had far better things to be doing than driving a young witch to go shopping.

"I-I don't think I have any money," Hermione protested. An exasperated sigh came from the driver's seat.

"Just read the letter."

The young witch looked down at the envelope she had just been handed, blinked for a moment, and then began to laugh. McGonagall's handwriting was unmistakable; it was definitely a letter from Hogwarts. In neatly scrawled cursive, the Professor had addressed the letter to '_Hermes Graingier'_.

Hermione chuckled all the way to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

**Old Time, in whose banks we deposit our notes  
Is a miser who always wants guineas for groats;  
He keeps all his customers still in arrears  
By lending them minutes and charging them years.  
****  
-Oliver Wendell Holmes **

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yep, Jeremy will play a very important role later. He's a bit like Sirius, isn't he? I can't remember if that was intentional or not, but it sure works just fine.

* * *


	4. Dazed and Confused

**Author's Note:** Re-edit. Remember, if you've forgotten so far, that this is an AU story.

**Important Questions Answered (Spoiler Alert for Deathly Hollows): **Can't the healers of St. Mungo's grow Hermione's fingers back? The answer is **no**. The magic that splinched her fingers was exceedingly powerful, and for those of you who don't remember, scars from powerful (i.e., dark) magic don't heal. Rowling backs me up on this in Deathly Hallows with what happens to Saintly George Weasley, and why Mad-Eye Moody looks like a piece of chewed meat. The rest of Hermione's cuts and bruises were all from mainly getting tossed around like a rag doll into things such as glass cases, which is why regular magic and a good two months rest healed her up nicely.

And **yes**, I am purposefully calling Hermione 'Hermes Graingier'. It wouldn't be prudent at all for a 'Hermione Granger' to exist before her time, now would it?

* * *

It was hard not to stop and stare sometimes, but Hermione controlled the urge.

Diagon Alley teemed with last-minute school shoppers and the usual market crowd, all dressed in robe styles and carrying books more than thirty years out of date. Yet each pair of feet kicked up dust on the same brick road she had always remembered, and gloved hands pointed at posters on the same brick walls she had once pointed at not so long ago. It was as if someone had taken a cherished picture and drawn images there that didn't belong.

Or, rather, just her image.

With a bag of school robes in her undamaged hand, Hermione witch slipped through the crowd like a ghost. Her expressive brown eyes glazed over as her mind obsessed with the surrealness of her situation, and how dangerous it was to be interacting so freely with people. Though her memories were as full of holes as a piece of Swiss cheese, _that_ much was painfully obvious.

In her distraction, Hermione's nimble feet led her to the entrance of a familiar shop. Books cluttered its storefront window, and through the open door it was easy to catch sight of the overly crammed bookshelves and random piles of volumes scattered from the doorway up to the second floor. The Flourish and Blotts clerk inside spotted her immediately as she hesitated at the doorway and waved her a greeting; Hermione's baby blue robes stood out from the crowd with its tight fit far more flattering and noticeable than the hefty overcloaks so many tired witches seemed to be wearing.

"Welcome!" he cried out from behind a massive stack of tomes. "School books upstairs!"

The rosy-cheeked employee squeezed by her and a dozen other customers to jog up the wooden banistered staircase. Hermione followed him closely behind, finding a clear path to the back of the store. Her bandaged fingers slid the required books off their shelves and into her shopping bag effortlessly. The monotony of the movement, one book after another, slide and fall, all became a distant rhythm in her mind. And then something clicked.

Curiosity glinted in Hermione's glassy eyes as she made her way to the very back of Flourish and Blotts, to a small collection of bookshelves tucked away by the employee's lounge. _Well, I'll be damned… _Her thin, pale finger traced along the leather spines protruding from the disorganized bookshelf, like a stick drawn across a picket fence. Off the top of her head, Hermione could pick out a small handful of authors and books that the Ministry had banned from public sale. _No, _will_ ban. These books are legal now._

Here, tucked away from the prying eyes of young children and sensitive mothers, was a small collection of books that in all probability would be burned, thrown away, or sold off to a collector in Knockturn Alley. Haphazardly organized before her was a treasure trove of information, and information was precisely what Miss 'Graingier' needed.

"Let's see," she whispered softly, "that's not so bad. Yes, _Dark Creatures and Where to Find Them_, that's good. _Vampire Chronicles_, the signed copy? I think not. _Timekeeper?_ God, that sounds promising…"

* * *

Hermione left the bustling bookstore with heavier bags than she intended, and a heavy conscience. It felt wrong to be adding suspicious non-school books to her headmaster's tab.

_Ha_, _a dead man's tab._

A chill slid up her spine as vertigo seized her miserable body once more. Feeling more disturbed by the moment, Hermione paused outside the Three Broomsticks and let the crowd surge past her. She put a trembling hand to her forehead; the skin there felt cold and clammy. The young witch gripped the red brick wall and focused her attention away from the moving streets and the reality that was so hard to grasp.

Dully, her brown eyes gazed over the numerous missing person and wanted posters that had been magically pasted against the grimy wall. Sad eyes blinked at her from moving pictures; some of the missing children jumped about in their frames and waved at her frantically. The posters, she noted darkly, had been hastily put over older posters in want of room, which covered other, older posters, which covered more posters…

A strong hand suddenly rested itself on her shoulder. Instinctly, Hermione whipped around and brandished her wand in her hand.

The short, balding man before her only blinked as the witch's wand clattered to the ground, slipping from the weak grasp of her bandaged fingers. The Ministry chauffeur sighed and picked it up for her, then moved to take up her shopping bags as well.

"That's enough of that, Miss. Let's get you to the Leaky Cauldron and set you up a room. Really, you look bloody _awful_."

Clutching her head in pain, she moaned an agreement.

* * *

Some supper and a few hours of deep, troubled sleep later, Hermione was sitting up in her four-poster bed and clutching her wand in her left hand. It was too difficult to try and grip it with her right hand, she had decided. There was no stability there, having to pinch it between her thumb and what was left of her index finger.

_No, no_, _no! For God's sake, I wasn't born left-handed for a reason!_

Across the room on her abused, mahogany dresser was a brightly wrapped chocolate malt. The only way Hermione was going to let herself have that awfully temping treat was to levitate it all the way to her mouth, using her left hand. So far she had gotten it to wobble and rise up a few inches off the dresser- not even close to perfection.

But Hermione wasn't the obsessive school girl she once was. She had been through too many battles, too many funerals, and far too many full moons to let impatience start to gnaw at her _now_ of all times. At least she was pretty sure those things had happened. With all the nightmares, it was hard to tell anymore.

With a deep breath, she started up the exercise again.

* * *

It took her the better part of the next day to finally conquer the awkwardness of the left-handed movements. She wasn't as speedy as she had been, albeit, but Hermione knew she could still be handy in a fight.

Steam swirled in the air around her, thick with noise. Luggage carts squeaked noisily as commuters made their way to their trains while chatting idly or giving loud goodbyes. Silent and brimming with determination, Hermione passed unnoticed through gate _9 ¾_.

The young witch had already dressed into her school robes and blended in finely with her fellow classmates. While the other students hugged their parents goodbye on the station platform, Hermione made her way into the practically empty Hogwart's Express and picked out a nice, empty compartment to lock herself in. Fatigue and discomfort were already wracking her body, but she took comfort in knowing that it would all be over soon.

_I'll talk to Dumbledore. There has to be a way for me to get back. With any manner of luck, I'll be able to set things right again, or at least remember everything again._

Hermione stretched herself out in the sweet solitude of her train compartment and contented herself with reading the oldest version of _Hogwarts: A History_ that she'd ever gotten her hands on.

* * *

The trip was uneventful, and a lovely piece of relaxation. If only she knew that it would be many, many weeks until she'd find such peace again.

Her trunk was tiny in comparison to those of the other students, and the smug little witch couldn't help but glow a little with pride as they all struggled to drag their things off the train. Of course, she had charmed her bag to be bigger on the inside, as any self-respecting witch or wizard should.

"This won't be so bad," she sighed softly, carrying her small trunk with a single hand. "I have more magical experience than most of these kids ever will. I'll get through this."

That became Hermione's mantra as she made her way to the carriages, pushing through nervous first years and jittery second years. Her frail body, still regaining its former shape, was jostled painfully around in the rush of the crowd.

_I'll get through this, I'll get through this_. _I've survived too much to let a thing like school get me. _

Three strangers were already sitting in the carriage she had chosen, looking perplexed as a new student entered their midst. Half of her wanted to snap at them to stop staring at her, but she was concentrating too hard on not glancing at the nightmarish creatures pulling the carriages.

* * *

"**What **_**are**_** those things, d'you reckon?" Harry asked, as the other students surged past them.**

"**What things?"**

"**The horse things pulling the carriages!" **

"**What are you talking about?"**

"**At the – there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front**–**"**

**Harry paused, looking between his two best friends with confusion.**

"**Can't…can't you see them?"**

_Yes, Harry, I can see them now_.

* * *

Hermione sat quietly and unassuming at the edge of the Gryffindor table, listening with disinterest as whispers filled the area. Whether or not they had anything to do with her, she really didn't care. Rumors would fade with time, and within weeks the world would forget her existence. All memories fade with time- that was the law of time, and an important note for its travelers- but Hermione couldn't help feel a little tense at the thought of interacting with the past.

_I can fix a few memories if I have to, but Jesus Christ, what if I have to fix everybody's memories? I know I won't have to…but what if I have to? Does that even make sense? Have I stopped making sense?_

The Sorting Hat was brought out and began to sing its ever-changing song, but the music faded into muffled silence in her ears. The robes on her body felt heavy and foreign; more than anything she wanted to be in Muggle clothes again. Pictures drifted into her mind of being back at the Black household, sitting around the chessboard with a cup of hot chocolate. She wanted that old comfort so badly that it brought tears to her eyes.

_It's too hard to think straight_. _I think…I think I'm supposed to be making some kind of plan right now. An escape plan, maybe? I can't remember. _The boys always depended on her for plans, for all that cunning and wit they seemed to associate her with. Was there a strategy, a way for going back home that she'd missed? Why did it feel like she was supposed to be doing something? Why? _Why can't you remember, Hermione? What are you forgetting?_

"Um…are you alright?" Came a tentative voice. Hermione started in her seat and stared at the concerned-looking Gryffindors around her. All of them complete strangers to her. An awful feeling grew in her stomach, like she'd somehow failed herself by letting her guard down so easily.

"I'm fine." She replied, her voice soft and meek. Shrugging, her classmates returned to the sorting.

Dinner came shortly after. Hermione fidgeted in her seat more and more as the night progressed, pulling on the sleeves of her robes, or continually readjusting the ponytail she'd put her hair up in. Why hadn't they announced her yet? Was Dumbledore going to pull her aside? Or…had they forgotten her?

Feeling completely sick to her stomach, Hermione pushed away her plate of food and instead contented herself with staring up at her headmaster. So alive, so chatty; he was just as she'd always remembered him.

The speech he gave was, as usual, brief and pointless. Albus warned the students to be careful and wary, and to enjoy themselves during the upcoming term. Not once did he even glance in her direction. Disappointed, the new seventh year student followed her classmates to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Many of those around her did their best to try and catch her eye, or try to make conversation by commenting on how nice the feast had been, but there was something suspicious in their glances. Here in the wizarding world, 1977 was a time when 'new' meant 'different' and 'different' meant 'dangerous.' It probably didn't help that she wasn't answering them.

Hermione fell into a bitter mood and ignored her classmates on the short walk to Gryffindor Tower. As she moved to step into the common room, however, a hand on her shoulder stopped her dead in her tracks. Wildly she turned to face a cheerful looking prefect.

"Hermes Graingier? You are wanted in Professor Dumbledore's office immediately."

Her breath caught in her throat. Without a second's hesitation, she dashed through the opened portrait and back down the hallway.

"It's down-" the prefect called out frantically, but she threw a curt wave towards him as she ran.

"Thank you!" Hermione cried and disappeared around the corner. Her steps were frenzied and her breath erratic as she barreled down the hallway and up the enchanted staircases towards the headmaster's office. Fear and anticipation overcame all her senses, forcing her to push her still-weakened body to its limit.

Dumbledore was waiting for her outside the steps to his office. His eyes twinkled as he watched Hermione slow her pace, gasping for breath as he beckoned her onwards.

Wordlessly she followed him up the stone staircase into his office. Countless treasures glittered on his desk and shelves; sneakoscopes of all colors and sizes, bejeweled trinkets, and a few odd pieces of jewelry. Fawkes stirred on his perch beside the headmaster's desk; candlelight illuminated his brilliant feathers, making him gleam as if he were pure fire.

"Sit, please." Dumbledore said softly, bringing her out of her reverie. A few portraits of now-deceased headmasters glared at her for disturbing their sleep as she slipped quietly into the cushy chair opposite her old professor. The old man across from her sighed softly, glancing at her with earnest.

"This is a delicate matter, Hermes. What is it that you can tell me about your past?"

All the breath left her body as she pushed her brain for the correct answer. Minutes ticked away, but Dumbledore gave no hint of the slightest impatience. Finally the words formed, though Hermione was still unsure if they were right.

"This is neither the _time, _nor the _place, _sir. What is important is…is the future. I don't think it is right for me to tell you what happened that night at the Department of Mysteries, or anything else about my past. There's too much at stake, too much... _danger. _But I hope you understand that I could never be a subordinate of Voldemort." She whispered. To her great surprise, a grin formed on Dumbledore's thin lips.

"Oh, I think I'm beginning to understand. You say his name without fear. Those who do are either his devout followers, who would not deny having ties to him, or a great adversary to him. There is much more to you, Miss Graingier, than meets the eye."

There was a pause of silence again. Hermione stared up at the colorful stained glass windows behind her old headmaster, wondering dreamily what they looked like in the sunlight.

"We cannot seem to find any relatives or acquaintances of yours." He finally spoke, his soothing voice bringing her back from her reverie.

"I, um, have none."

"I'm going to assume, then, that you have arrived here from the Salem Institute of Washington, over in America. I doubt anybody would question the validity of that statement; the school is terribly secluded, and a home to a number of orphaned witches and wizards. Foreign students are often welcomed there in order to help spread tolerance and 'brotherly love' throughout the wizarding world. Would it be correct of me to assume that you were once an English transfer student to Salem, and have now returned to your native home?"

Hermione nodded her head dumbly, trying to comprehend. _Did he just hand me an alibi? Does…does this mean he understands? God, I wish that man would just stop talking in riddles for once._

"Sir," she spoke uncertainly, "what should I do? You've brought me here, but I don't know what to do anymore. Quite frankly, there's a lot I don't remember anymore."

"Keep a low profile, first of all. It does bother me to ask you to hide your true potential as a student, but the less attention that is drawn to you, the better. The Ministry still views you as a suspicious character, and many Ministry officials have children that attend here."

"Shouldn't I leave?" Hermione breathed, almost dizzy with confusion. "Would it not be safer if I left while the damage is at a minimum?"

Dumbledore's piercing eyes rested on her bandaged right hand, and a thoughtful look overcame his wizened face.

"You speak like a true soldier, but the only safe place is here, Hermes. If you left, there are too many chances that you would be picked up by a Death Eater, which would be the worst possible thing that could happen to you. No matter where you go, this is still your present, and there will always be danger for you. Here, at least, I can promise that you will have every resource available to you, and that I will do my best to help set things right."

"I'm overwhelmed, sir." Her voice was unsteady, on the verge of choking on her words. His words were like a light in the darkness and it touched her aching heart. Fawkes let out a small cry from his perch, craning his head at the tired and emotional witch while Dumbledore stroked his glossy wings reassuringly.

"One last question, Miss Graingier, and please answer it as truthfully as you can. Do you know anyone here, perhaps even indirectly? Is there someone who could, in the future, point you out and remember your face?"

_Damn, my head is pounding. Am I forgetting something? Is there something I should be remembering?_ _Perhaps something familiar about all this? I can't think of anything off the top of my head. Maybe…maybe that means it's okay. _

Images of Remus and her school days there at Hogwarts played through her mind in a continuous loop, but that was all that came to her. She pushed away the doubt in her cloudy mind, too tired to sort through her muddled thoughts.

"I don't think so, sir."

"That's fine then. This won't be the last of our conversations, I promise." He stood and beckoned her to stand as well. Rounding his handsome desk, Hermione's headmaster settled a warm hand on her shaking shoulder and smiled down at her.

"If ever something is bothering you, don't hesitate to drop in. You are always welcome here. Just tell the stone gargoyle the password, which is 'Cockroach Cluster', and he'll let you through."

"I know that." She muttered distantly, rubbing her eyes on her sleeves. Everything was looking a bit fuzzy.

Albus walked her to the door where they exchanged a round of thank you's and goodnights. The young witch continued to wipe at her eyes as she turned and walked back to her dormitory.

_Maybe everything _will_ turn out alright. Oh Remus, Harry, I swear I'll get back to you somehow. _

* * *

The sound of knocking filled Dumbledore's quiet office.

"Come in."

"S-sorry to bother you, sir, but Professor McGonagall said you asked to see me."

The headmaster smiled up at the nervous student and stood from his seat at his desk.

"Yes. And please, don't apologize; I am the one who called you here at such a late hour, after all." The boy ran a hand through his faded brown hair and smiled weakly up at his professor.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, fear reflected in his tired eyes.

"I wanted to know if you could assist me with something."

The handsome youth brightened up considerably at this.

"Of course, sir."

"These are dark times, as you well know, and I'm afraid things are not going to clear up anytime soon. The Ministry is having trouble holding up against the forces of the Dark Lord, and they want my assistance now more than ever. I won't have much time to be involved with dealings here in Hogwarts, so I've decided to trust you with something very important. There is a new transfer student here, a seventh year, who I am placing in the Gryffindor house. Her name is Hermes Graingier, and I want you to keep an eye on her." Dumbledore turned and moved back towards his desk, looking exhausted.

"I would not ask if I didn't trust you so implicitly. It is important to me that you keep an eye on her and help her stay out of trouble, as discreetly as you possibly can. This is a delicate matter, you understand."

"You have my word, Professor." The boy swore solemnly.

"Thank you, Mr. Lupin. Thank you very much. You may return to your dormitory now."

* * *

**A childhood is what anyone wants to remember of it. It leaves behind no fossils, except perhaps in fiction.**

-Carol Shields

* * *

**Author's Note: **These first four chapters have been BORING, I know! It's the lack of human interaction and action, which is killing me. And I know I rushed this one a bit, but I'm excited about introducing the Marauders. And no, I don't care about describing her interactions with the other Hogwarts' students and worrying about them remembering her. Do _you_ remember all the quiet, nondescript kids from your high school days?

By the way, that bolded quote about the horses is straight from the fourth book. Hermione can see them now because she's seen dead people, get it?

So, can Hermione handle being back in school? And how will she react to her new 'guardian'? Next chapter- 'Indemnity Crisis'.


	5. Indemnity Crisis

**Author's Note: **Re-edit. Reminding my darling readers and reviewers that this is an AU storyline, and that I am a busy college student that has no Beta.

This chapter was such a mess. I feel bad for the people who read it before my re-editing, 'cause it really did confuse things. Oops.

* * *

Dawn was cold and bright as it entered the windows of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione watched the sky break open into morning, staining the sky an array of pinks and oranges. The grounds glistened with dew and practically glowed like the burning embers of a dying fire as the sun cast its light over autumn leaves and not-so-green grass.

Unable to sleep, she'd curled up by the fire and stared at her school books without really reading them. It was too strange to enter her old dormitory- those four poster beds reminded her of hours she'd spent gossiping with Lavender, hours spent crying alone, and hours spent studying books that never really told her what she needed to know. I mean, they were great for exams, but they hadn't told her how to help Harry when Sirius died, or how to bring the bastard back to life, or how to kill the immortal Dark Lord.

_All that wasted time on things that never really mattered. And now I'm right back where I started_.

Hermione stood slowly and brushed bits of soot off her school robes. Her soft brown eyes caught sight of something moving; her reflection in a polished frame resting on the fireplace mantle. A sad little thing stared back at her- sickly pale, meticulously groomed, and infinitely hollow. Her hair, not quite as untamable as it had been back in grade school, had been pulled back into a tight bun again, exposing the creases on her forehead that concern and sadness had put there.

God, how she had changed.

* * *

Breakfast had just appeared on the large tables of the Great Hall by the time she walked in. A small handful of teachers and students stirred sleepily around her as they piled hot food on their plates. For the moment, it was quiet. Peaceful.

Hermione pursed her pink lips and blew softly on the steam rising from her cup of Earl Grey. A particular sensation crept through her bones and made them tingle - that odd sensation of being watched. She casually glanced up over the rim of her cup to find a small group of Slytherins eyeing her warily. Unfazed, the young witch closed her eyes and amused herself with the thought of acing her O.W.L.S. for a second time.

The amusement quickly drifted off into uneasiness. She couldn't risk being detected and noticed, she knew that. But she also knew how easy it was to exist and never be noticed. Hermione had probably meet a thousand people in her life, but their faces and the details of her encounters with them were hazy at best. Yet there were so many things could go wrong…did go wrong…_would_ go wrong…

Vivid memories filled her mind like a bad slideshow, making her relive the bloody battles, the taunts of masked Death Eaters, the way she'd had to hide away in Grimmauld Place as her friends died off like cockroaches, the awful search for the Horcruxes, that last night in the Department of Mysteries, the way Remus had told her to go, the look on his face as she disappeared, leaving him to _die_…

Something moved beside her, and she gripped her wand tightly. Someone chuckled.

"Mind if I sit here?"

_If I say no, he'll probably make a fuss. Might as well._

"Go ahead," she sighed, obviously irritated by his presence. It was silent again for a short while as the boy sat down. Hermione's skin crawled as she felt more people watching her. In fact, the entire Great Hall was paying way too much attention to their spot at the table. She chanced a tiny glance sideways, wondering if perhaps it was the young man next to her that was attracting so much attention… _Oh_. _Shit_. Not just any young man.

He was a Slytherin. A Slytherin _Prefect_, more aptly. Tall, handsome, with deep green eyes and dark blonde hair that was parted to the side. His robes, she couldn't help but notice, were impeccable; not a single crease in them, even as he sat. He was impressive, and he was pissing her off.

"Need something?" she asked, barely glancing at him as she did so.

"You looked lonely over here all by yourself- I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine, thanks." Hermione put an emphasis on the words, dismissing him as she took another sip of tea.

"David." The boy extended his hand. "David Starlan."

Her left hand remained at her side, gripping her wand in a loose and inconspicuous manner. The sleek Prefect grinned and reached out to gently touch the bandages that surrounded right hand. Hermione flinched hard, nearly spilling her mug down the front of her robes, and turn to give him a mean glare. His eyes, in response, glittered with amusement.

"That looks like it hurt."

"…right, of course you care. What is it you wanted?"

"Just to make your acquaintance," he replied with a smile. A look of disbelief spread across her face, and he seemed to expect it.

"I make friends in all houses, for whatever reasons you want to assume. Like I said, I noticed you were alone over here, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

_Bullshit, you nosy bastard._ _What is it you really want?_

"Do what you want," Hermione muttered, downing the dregs of her cup and resuming her air of indifference. The tall young wizard threw his hands up in quick defeat and bowed slightly towards her.

"I'll remember you said that." A smile touched at his lips again, flirtatious and almost patronizing. Trouble with a capital 'T'.

Starlan returned to the Slytherin table where his friends were giving him curious and accusing looks. But he smiled broadly, bursting with confidence and control, and the entire table relaxed.

* * *

As more people streamed into the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, Hermione grabbed her schoolbag and slipped outside. The brisk sound of shoes hitting stone bounced off the high, arched ceilings of the walkway and echoed across the sunlit courtyard, and the crisp morning breeze played with the edges of her new school robes. Her mind kept replaying the scene at breakfast. It would be so easy to wonder why he had singled her out and to pretend he might have really wanted to be friends.

Hermione was a lot of things, but completely stupid was never one of them.

_I'll bet my wand he knows something about what happened at the Department of Mysteries. He practically reeks of Death Eater. And even if he doesn't know, it probably wouldn't take much for him to find out. The Ministry doubtless has my name, statement, medical records and a long list of the coins I've cost them on file. I'm a Goddamn walking paper trail._

Her stomach tightened at the thought, and suddenly Hermione found the world around her becoming quieter and more muffled. Familiar sensations of dizziness and nausea began to rise, clouding her mind as if it were stuffed with cotton. She rubbed at the flesh over her lungs in surprise, finding it hard to breathe.

_And I'm…not completely healed. _Her heart settled as she leaned against an old stone column, running over and over again through her mind what the nurses had told her. _I should have died that night. I wish I had died that night. Jesus, what if I never completely heal from this?_

The soldier inside her winced; the cynic inside her laughed. Flushed and still a little shaky, Hermione pushed herself gently from the column and shuffled off to Transfiguration slightly later than she'd hoped.

* * *

The young witch noticed the amount of stares her classmates pinned her with as she slipped into a desk in the very back corner of the room. But as soon as class started, everyone was too busy jotting down notes and keeping up with a surprisingly young McGonagall to spare her a glance. Seventh year was no joke.

It was the same in History of Magic, too, and in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms, and all through the hallways. There were whispers and shrugs, and a mix of disinterested or suspicious looks. Hermione had come from the world outside Hogwarts, the world where people and magical creatures were disappearing like rabbits in a magic show, and nobody wanted to be a part of that. _Well, nobody worth thinking about in any case._

* * *

The nausea came back after lunch, just as she began her descent towards the potions classroom. So far the day had gone by without much incident, but the cold, dark atmosphere of the dungeon was suffocating. The thin veneer of bravery she had held on to that morning was gone. Anxiety was setting in hard. More worries and concerns filled her mind, making it harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other.

Giving in, Hermione crumpled against an icy wall. Did it really matter if she went to class?

_Maybe I should run, right now, and get the hell out of here. _

There were steady footsteps in the distance- just a single pair. She closed her eyes and composed herself, ready to take on Filch or the Potion's Master. The footsteps stopped and Hermione could feel someone standing over her.

"Here you are," they said. "Are you feeling alright?"

She groaned and looked up at David Starlan, willing him to disappear. There was genuine concern etched into his strong face.

_What a performance. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you care._

"I'm fine."

"You say that too much. Class should be starting in a minute," he sighed, looking down the hallway. His hand reached down and took her arms gently, and David hoisted her to her feet before she could protest. Spots covered Hermione's vision as she tried to pull away from him. It was a decent struggle, but it was a vain one.

"I'll help you down to the infirmary. And don't worry-" he added as her mouth opened to argue, "-about missing any notes. You won't miss anything."

"Charming as usual," someone said as they passed by. The reassuring look on Starlan's face twisted darkly, marring his handsome and eager features.

"Go fuck yourself."

"What a stunning comeback. Your genius never ceases to amaze, Shit Eater."

Hermione stopped fighting David's tugging and allowed him to help her up the maze of enchanted staircases. She must have been terribly incoherent because she swore she _knew_ that voice. But that would have been impossible. It sounded like Harry, but Harry was years away, tied up in the Department of Mysteries. _I'm missing something. Something…something about the Order? No. Yes? Fuck it, I don't know._

"Still so suspicious. Do you think I'm going to hurt you?" David's voice interrupted her thoughts and reminded her that she was still holding his arm. He had regained his control and was once more oozing that sweet and eager charm of his. Pulling back from his grasp, she shook her head.

"Perish the thought."

He laughed, and it was a rich, sweet sound. "You really are an odd one, Hermes. Perhaps I'll see you later?"

Her shaking hands grasped the doors of the infirmary tightly and swung them open. The fact that he knew her name was as inevitable as it was disturbing.

"I doubt it."

"I don't," David replied with a tight smile. His smile was not as charming as it had been at breakfast, and his pretty eyes burned with pleasure. Hermione knew she'd been right- he looked more like a hunter toying with his prey.

* * *

"What's got your panties in a twist, Moony?"

"I'm looking for Hermes Graingier."

"…the hell is that?"

Remus sighed with exasperation as he looked over the Great Hall once more. Hundreds of students laughed and chattered noisily as they ate their supper. The only person he could tell was missing was the one person he wanted to finally check up on.

"She's the new transfer from Salem." James Potter made a face and pretended to gag at the mention of the American school. A small, rat-faced boy laughed loudly at his side.

"Why are you so interested in her?" came a smooth, deep voice from Lupin's side. "Is she cute?"

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on her, if you must know," Remus replied with a blush. "I don't even know what she looks like."

"Mm, I think I saw her earlier," James interjected through a mouthful of food. "Starlan was dragging some Gryffindor girl out of the dungeons. She looked pretty ill."

"…you saw him dragging someone away, and you didn't stop to help her?" James shrugged, and Remus bit his tongue. The disapproval was evident on his scarred face.

"Is she at the table?" The seeker haphazardly glanced around and shook his head.

"I'll go check the infirmary. Ask Lily to keep an eye out for her, alright? I should have gone looking for her earlier…"

"I'm sure she's fine. Hogwarts isn't like the rest of the world. If she disappears here, she'll turn up again." The soothing voice at his side reassured him. Remus still looked worried.

"I'll see you later." James was bemused as he watched his friend scurry out of the Great Hall.

"He must really like her. I think that's the first time he disregarded you, Padfoot."

* * *

A very young and very irate Madame Pomphrey cracked open the doors to the Hospital Wing, glaring at the boy on the other side.

"Is this an emergency?"

"…no. No ma'am. I'm sorry, but is Hermes Graingier here?"

"Not anymore. She left a couple of hours ago."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Do I look like her keeper?"

"No ma'am. Sorry." The doors swung shut and locked with a loud click. Remus ran a hand through his thin brown hair and sighed. Maybe something _had_ happened to her.

* * *

It was late as he finally made his way down to the library, after checking the common room and other obvious social spots. Nobody claimed to know her name when he asked about her. Nobody seemed to care. Dim candle light filled the silent library. Remus walked down every aisle of shelves, losing hope of finding the girl Dumbledore had trusted him with. Where could she have…

_Oh_, Remus thought with relief. _That must be her._

At a table in the back corner of the library, a young woman was browsing through a thick stack of dusty volumes. She was unhealthily thin; the bones on her face and neck were pushing against her drawn skin. And her skin was terribly pale, even in the warm light of the candles surrounding her. The girl's brown eyes were filled with seriousness as she browsed line after line of her book, flipping through the pages with almost frightening speed. Unsure of what to say, Remus cleared his throat softly. Hermione jumped and looked up. He smiled reassuringly and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. The smile on his face fell. She was just _staring_ at him. Like he was a ghost or something. Remus stared back, guilt ripping at his heart. Had he frightened her? Was she okay? Was she even breathing?

Nobody moved or blinked, like statues frozen in the most awkward of moments. The only signs of life were the sound of two heartbeats pounding away at a mile a minute. Time took a cruel interest as the minutes ticked by, forcing each second of silence to last an eternity, waiting until somebody felt brave enough to move.

Hermione broke away first. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, suddenly disregarding the boy standing before her, as if he didn't exist. She stood, not bothering to put away her books, and walked away. Remus tried to call after her, but the words would not come.

That look in her eyes was still haunting him, screaming _FEAR! DISTRUST! _and soft, aching sadness. It was…

…it was almost…

…almost like…

…she knew.

It was like she had seen the werewolf inside of him.

* * *

_I must be exhausted_. _Did the healers ever mention hallucinations? _

Hermione threw herself into her four-poster bed, no longer bothered by the strange feeling of being in her old dormitory. Too many other things to worry about. Her mind wrapped itself around the youthful image of her old professor and clung to it as tightly as a prisoner clings to hope.

Tears brimmed at the edge of her vision. The image had been so clear. _I could have reached out and touched him._

Unable to sleep, she snuggled into her soft sheets and stared off into the darkness, daydreaming a million different things, wondering if she'd lost her mind somehow. There was a reason time turners went by hours, not days or weeks or years.

Lost in the sometimes cruel, sometimes sweet world of her thoughts, Hermione could not realize that her plans were shattered. All her ideas of staying safe and unnoticed in this foreign time were gone. Her indemnity was more than ruined.

It was changing everything.

* * *

**I accept chaos. I am not sure whether it accepts me. I know some people are terrified of the bomb. But then some people are terrified to be seen carrying a modern screen magazine. Experience teaches us that silence terrifies people the most.**

**-Bob Dylan**

* * *

**Author's note:** I hate putting in made up characters, but it was terribly necessary. Apologies to the not-so-kind reader who ripped me a new one for putting a non-canon character in this story.

Up next on _Frame of Reference- _Fortune's Fool. What will happen when Hermione realizes she wasn't hallucinating? Is there any way for her to fix things, or will fate have something to say about it?


	6. Fortune's Fool

**Author's Note: **Re-edit. I'm embarrassed at how much editing I've had to do, but I have no Beta, and writers suck at editing their own work. This chapter in particular sucked major ass, but it's all fixed now.

I apologize to all of those Remus/Hermione shippers out there. They're a cute couple, but J.K. Rowling basically portrayed Remus as a pussy in his Hogwarts days. And, after all, **nice guys sleep alone**. Remember that, kids.

* * *

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Really." James shrugged in response and threw himself down on the warm grass of the grounds.

Sirius, standing at his side, looked unconvinced. "You've been as twitchy as a kappa on dry land these past few days- don't bullshit me."

"Oh? I'm sorry," Remus replied distantly, his eyes listless as they watched the giant squid's tentacles play along the surface of the lake.

"I think you're working too hard," the handsome boy continued condescendingly, his expression and manner serious. His chest puffed up with confidence and his hips swayed as he paced a small area around the group of close friends, amusing James to no end. On the other side of the lake, a few girls sighed and giggled with appreciative glances.

"You've got an answer to everything, don't you?" Potter laughed. The lanky quidditch player took his well-damaged glasses off the bridge of his nose and began to polish them on Peter's robe. Sirius cast his best friend an innocent glance.

"Of course I do. I'm the infallible son of a pureblood."

"Well, I think he's got a crush." Remus snapped out of his reverie and turned to give James a hard look.

"I do not."

"You think so?" Sirius asked, completely bemused. Why hadn't _he_ thought of that?

"He's been acting like a kicked puppy ever since he went to find that Harpy girl…"

"_Hermes._ And I don't-"

"Oh, you see? He's all defensive about her- it's positively adorable." James chuckled.

"I didn't think Moony was interested in witches," Sirius muttered thoughtfully.

"Excuse me?" Remus looked taken aback.

"Mm, I was beginning to think he was into 'bed knobs and broomsticks', if you catch my drift. Just a late bloomer, I suppose." Peter, silent and hiding at James' side, choked. Lupin looked equally shocked and embarrassed, his scarred fingers gripping the edges of his robe tightly.

"Do you suppose he'll make a move?"

"N-now wait a minute, hold on. You're misunderstanding," Remus finally spoke, squirming like an awkward child. James and Sirius rarely ever picked on him like this- he was usually safe from their meddling and overbearing ways. "I'm responsible for her, that's all. It's a purely platonic interest." Sirius leaned against the tree and cocked an eyebrow at that, posing casually as a group of third years passed close by.

"I thought you were just supposed to keep an eye on her, not take care of her."

"You haven't seen her, have you?" He replied as if that explained everything. "Dumbledore says she's been through a lot…"

"And I'm supposed to care? About some scarred-up chick that can't take care of herself? I don't do pity cases."

"Posh. You'll do anything that moves." James interjected. Pettigrew chuckled again, quietly and briefly.

"_In any case_, Moony, we want you to know that we're here for you."

"And that by the end of the week, we promise you'll be banging this witch like it's a full moon. We've got your back." Remus turned scarlet, looking irritated and thoroughly embarrassed. The boy picked up his books, muttering something about Prefect duties, and started a brisk pace back towards the school.

"He's getting a backbone. I'm not sure how to feel about that," Sirius sighed, sliding down the tree's trunk and sprawling out on the grass. James settled his head on the boy's knee and gazed up at the browning leaves above.

"I'm worried about him." Potter sighed softly, a deep fondness in his voice. "He hasn't liked a girl before like this. If she rejects him, he might not recover."

"You're giving this girl too much credit. It's hard to hurt Remus; he's too genuine and honest to be cruel to. A little crush like this isn't all that complicated to understand and work, Padfoot. They just need a push in the right direction."

"And you, the expert on matters of the heart, want to give them a good push?" James chuckled.

"Don't you?"

"Naturally."

* * *

Hermione sat in her now usual place in the library, quietly bent over a small piece of paper. Natural light fell through the glass windows of the room and revealed that her pale skin looked a little less drawn against her cheekbones, even holding a small semblance of color. The dark circles beneath her soft eyes were less prominent than usual, too.

_I'm not crazy_. _It's my eyesight. A soldier can't think or fight properly if they don't take care of themselves. It's my eyes, not my mind. After all, Remus didn't go to Hogwarts. Or did he? But he didn't attend school with Harry, that's just ridiculous. Isn't it?_

Her left hand moved carefully over the parchment, scratching in her address and billing information with a simple quill. The handwriting wasn't quite up to her standards, but it was the best she could do. Every day she became a little better at using her left hand and a little better at hiding her right one from curious eyes.

"Style of glasses?" she whispered to herself. "The largest, most unassuming frames you've got…please."

A few minutes later she stood and stretched outwards, the tiniest of smiles on her face. For the first time in a very long time, things felt like they were going right.

* * *

Sirius Black stood by a collection of 14th century potions journals and glanced casually at Hermione, wondering if she was the 'Hermes Graingier' he was looking for. The girls in the Gryffindor common room had looked a little sour when he'd asked about the new transfer student, and they'd just pushed him off towards the stuffiest corner of Hogwarts' library.

But there she was- a thin, sharp looking girl hiding among enormous stacks of stuffy volumes and parchments full of what he assumed to be notes. His grey eyes looked her up and down in a quick assessment. _Self-conscious, lonely, and completely without a sense of humor._

For a moment the boy pondered whether it was worth trying to set Remus up with this strange girl. _Moony could do so much better_, he thought. But there again, it was Remus' choice and not his own, and he had to respect that.

As Hermione stuffed her order form in an envelope, an idea occurred to Sirius. His lips curled upwards in a self-satisfied grin as he moved quickly out of the library and down the hall towards the Great Hall. Remus, as he had predicted, was patrolling the lunchtime crowd with an intense seriousness. Sirius moved into step beside him casually, almost surprising his friend.

"Oh? Something wrong?" Remus asked.

"Quite the opposite, actually. You need to go up to the owlry immediately."

"What did you do?"

"No, no trouble. Hermes Graingier is sending a letter off, and I thought you might lend her the use of your owl. School owls can be such a hassle…" Remus looked thoughtful, but before he could protest the idea, Sirius was pushing him out the door.

"You know the way there. _Go_."

* * *

"Hold still!" Hermione had been trying to tie her envelope to the leg of an old barn owl for the past five minutes, but the owl seemed more intent on sleeping than delivering letters. It wiggled out of her grasp and nipped at her fingers as she approached. "I'll hex you if you don't stop," she sighed.

"There's no need for that. You can use mine, if you prefer."

_I've lost my mind._

Unable to move and unable to breathe, Hermione let the envelope in her hand slip from her fingers. There was a ghost behind her.

"Hey…a-are you alright?" It breathed nervously. There was a trembling in its voice, full of fear and uncertainty. "I'm sorry. I startled you again, didn't I?" The ghost spoke hurriedly, trying to make up for the thick silence in the air. Hermione refused to turn around. "We must have gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm Remus Lupin. We're, ah, in the same house, you know."

_Don't say you're sorry. It wasn't your fault_.

"Y-yes, anyways, owls. I mean, for your letter. Prometheus, my horned owl, is just over there in that niche by the owl treats. He's, ah, great with packages as well. Should you ever need to send one."

_I lost my mind. I fucked up. I lost my mind and I fucked up. _

"I've got Prefect duties now, so I'm afraid I can't stay long. But if there's anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to find me. Please."

_God, it's good to hear his voice again_.

After a few moments of silence, the door to the owlry clicked shut. Hermione jumped at the sound and turned. There was nothing there. The ghost was gone. Prometheus cooed as the young witch approached curiously and rubbed its head against the tips of her trembling fingers. She couldn't help but feel her thoughts stirring, putting together a puzzle with the final piece. And the longer she thought about it, the more it made sense.

Prometheus wiped his sharp beak against the side of her hand, confused and obviously waiting for some letter or package to be tied to his thick leg. Hermione stroked his dark feathers soothingly, trying to settle the pounding of her weak heart.

_I think I remember now. This is the year after…no, before, it's the year before the founding of the Order of the Phoenix. And Harry never mentioned when his father and friends had gone to school here. I can't believe this is so hard to piece together. He hated talking about it, that I do remember. Something…something about the memories in Snape's pensieve really affected him. And the map- I think it was the Marauding Map, or something like that. __But for me to end up here with them, that would be too cruel to be true._

_Right?_

_Right._

* * *

"Hey, Hermes."

"...hey, Justin." She answered, forcing her voice to be meek and quiet.

_I am so sick of this already._

Her potions partner set a number of supplies and utensils beside their cauldron before looking back at her. He was smiling, as an adult might smile at a nervous child. Hermione wanted to smack that look off his face.

"F-first step?" she asked, as if she hadn't been paying attention. As if she hadn't made this sleeping potion a thousand times before. _As if I_ _was stupid_. Justin looked as if he expected this.

"Okay, we need to put in an ounce of wormwood. I'll chop it up, so don't worry about that. Then you put…" He guided her through the steps again, one at a time. She watched him with boredom as he recited the instructions she already knew by heart. Hermione's mind began to wander, imagining ghosts and horned owls and pensieves.

"…and then we stir for five minutes in a counter-clockwise motion. I'll bottle it up after that, okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah." On the other side of the classroom voices started to rise and carry in the dungeon's echo. Justin perked up immediately.

"Watch it, asshole."

"_You_ watch it. I'm sick of your attitude, Avery."

"Looks like a fight," Justin muttered. "Stupid Slytherins, can't keep to themselves during double potions. Hang on, Hermes. I'll be right back."

_Avery? I know that name, right? Sounds familiar._

Her partner and a number of other Gryffindors moved to surround the ruckus, cheering on a potential fight. Hermione's bandaged hand moved to brush the designated chopped wormwood into the cauldron, but she paused. Instead, she slyly reached around it, ready to knock a small basket of rat tails into the frothing mixture.

"No, darling. You had it right." A hand quickly grabbed her own, curling over the area where her missing fingers should have been. "Put the wormwood in first." Her entire body jumped and tensed at the touch. Afraid to turn around, Hermione bowed her head in mock embarrassment.

"S-sorry," she apologized.

"Did I frighten you?" David asked, amusement resounding in his rich voice. The hand on hers slipped away slowly, as if relishing the touch, and the boy moved to her side. Hermione shook her head, clutching the area over her heart fiercely.

_My heart is pounding_…

"No," she lied. Her fingers preoccupied themselves with readjusting her hair into a tighter bun, trying to keep herself from clenching her fist and popping the bastard in the face.

"It seems as if you're missing the finer points of potion making. I'd be more than willing to help you study." David grinned and ran his own fingers through his dark blonde hair. Hermione opened her mouth to spit back a comment, but she didn't get the chance.

"The hell do you want, Starlan? Hermes, is this guy bothering you?" Justin called out, walking back from the scattered and disappointing 'fight'. The fiery look in her eyes fell into one of practiced helplessness- the innocent, victimized little girl.

"I'm fine." She replied weakly, turning from David's side. The Slytherin prefect was laughing at her now, utterly amused by her pathetic attempt at acting. One of his thin fingers hooked beneath her chin and forcibly turned her gaze back to him.

"I'll see you around, Graingier." Justin cocked an eyebrow at the situation, but said nothing. Hermione's face burned with fury as she turned her concentration fully on the cauldron before her.

"What did you say came after wormwood?"

* * *

It was late. The enchanted candles lighting the dusty, dark bookcases of the library were growing dim and melting fast. Beads of wax dripped and hung suspended in the air above the heads of a few tired students. Hermione dozed at her back table, her head resting between a thick volume titled _Reviewing Arithmancy_ and a small, leather-bound collection of journals simple marked _XIII. _A number of other books dotted the table, some untitled, some covered in stains that looked mysteriously like blood.

Someone came around the corner and paused. Hermione tensed, fingers on wand, waiting for the stranger to pass.

"Are you alright?"

_Oh_.

She picked her head up and wiped the sleep from the corners of her eyes. Remus Lupin avoided her eyes, obviously nervous. A trickle of laughter escaped Hermione's throat, her lips twisted up in the strangest of smiles. Hysterical, almost. Remus squirmed beneath the force of her gaze. He was taller than she remembered. _But Remus always did slouch_. And his hair had no grey in it; it was entirely brown, soft, and thin. His eyes held more life in them. There were less scars on his face and hands, and Hermione imagined there were less claw marks on his abdomen and legs. _Self-inflicted wounds from those awful full moon nights_.

It was him- no doubt about it. Younger, though. Stranger. Hermione had braced herself for this moment. Her voice wavered only minimally as she spoke.

"I'm fine."

"The library is closing soon. I'm supposed to be ushering the students out now."

"That all?"

"…no. I've been meaning to check up on you."

"I'm fine." She repeated, her words strained with annoyance. Remus looked at her blankly, unsure of what to do. "I'm in the middle of something important."

"Oh." The young prefect nodded in understanding, still rooted to the spot, not wanting to move.

"Do _you_ like to be bothered when you study?" she sighed, looking back to her books.

"S-sorry, yes. I mean, no. Ah, I'll see you later."

"So you can bother me some more? _Fantastic._" Lupin flinched as if he'd been smacked and immediately turned on his heel to leave. Hermione casually opened a book and pretended to read, forcing down the bile rising in her throat.

_If you only understood. My God, if I could only tell you. But you can't know me, Remus._

* * *

An attractive young wizard leaned against the doorway of an empty classroom, his grey eyes dark as they watched her every move. This was the third time that week alone she had gone to Dumbledore's office, requesting to see the headmaster as if she were a close friend of his. But Professor Dumbledore was out on Ministry business and wouldn't be back for at least a few days more.

"There's something strange about it." Sirius sighed.

"What? Going to see Ol' Albus? You've gone in there plenty of times- stop being paranoid, you twit." James sighed as he stretched out on a handful of empty desks.

"I don't go voluntarily."

"Can we stop this stalking business for now? I'm hungry."

"…fine."

* * *

Lily watched with a sad smile as Remus picked languidly at the food on his plate. James, Sirius, and Peter were too busy sharing dirty jokes and pointing out pretty girls to notice that Moony was getting worse every day.

"You know, I'm sure she doesn't hate you as much as you think."

Bright eyes looked up, filled with hope and sadness. The eyes of a child. "You've spoken to her?"

"No, I've never seen Hermes talk to anyone." Lily shook her head gently, her red hair spilling over her shoulders.

"Why does she hate me so much?"

"I don't know, love. But things are rough for her. She's a transfer, she's all alone, she's disabled, and most of the girls at Hogwarts despise her…"

"What?"

"They're jealous of her. Sirius asks about her often, and I've even seen him follow her sometimes." Remus looked over at the young Black with sweet curiosity.

"He's been following her?"

"I think you're the closest thing she has to a friend, Moony." Lily added, ignoring his question. It never did well to question the things Sirius Black did in his spare time.

"She looks at me like I'm a monster," the Prefect sulked.

"Hm. Maybe it isn't my place to say, but she talks about you in her sleep." The tired-looking boy perked up immensely, nearly spilling his goblet of pumpkin juice.

"What does she say?"

Lily shrugged uncomfortably. "She mutters your name, but it's hard to hear what else she says. I've heard her mention ghosts a few times, but she usually jumps awake at that point. Hermes rarely stays in the dormitory anymore- she has nightmares like that every night."

Remus smiled and stood; Lily still looked uncomfortable, wondering if she'd said the right thing. She'd only wanted to make him feel better.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll see you later."

* * *

"Good evening."

"Mm." Hermione replied brusquely, not bothering to glance up.

"I, ah, heard you've been having some problems with potions lately…" Her face was soft and tired, Remus noticed. She almost looked as haggard as he did.

"Not really."

The young wizard forced his gaze from her face and began to notice the books she had stacked around herself like a fortress. Introduction guides to seventh year potions and charms lay haphazardly around the table, their open pages discreetly covering the titles of the others. _I must be seeing things,_ he thought with a laugh. _I swear I've seen some of those ragged covers in the Restricted Section. _

When the silence had gone on long enough between them, Hermione sighed dramatically and raised her head to give him an even stare. Her messy curls of brown hair framed her face perfectly as it quivered slightly with the movement. It was an unusual sight, seeing her hair out of its tight, no-nonsense bun, and it made her look young and girlish.

"What can I help you with, Lupin?" her voice was forcibly flat and short. Remus flinched at this. The witch's brown eyes softened in guilt, but the boy didn't notice- he was too busy staring at the ground.

"J-just wanted you to know that if you need help with potions, or anything at all, I'd be glad to lend a hand."

"That all? Jesus, you're really making a habit out of interrupting me. Is it as fun for you as it is for me?"

"Oh. Yes, sorry. I mean, no. Sorry. Right." The boy was beaten now. 0 for Remus, 2 for Hermione. "O-okay. Have a good night." He slipped out so silently that Hermione didn't even hear the library door shut. Wiping away her unshed tears with a robe sleeve, the young witch returned to her work.

* * *

**Halloween.**

The day of costumes, candy, tricks, and wild excesses of magic. The day Hermione was to finally see Dumbledore and request to leave Hogwarts. The day everything went terribly, terribly wrong. Hermione sat unmoving outside the enchanted entrance of Dumbledore's office. He wasn't there yet- some prankster had let loose a number of pixies and bewitched pumpkins in the dungeons. But she had no intentions of leaving that spot until the headmaster arrived.

_I can't stay here anymore. It wouldn't matter if it were anyone other than them, than _him_. It's unfair._

Sirius and James, as they had gotten accustomed to, lounged in the empty classroom nearby, watching her curiously.

"Really, you'd think she'd be hungry by now. She's been sitting there since the crack of dawn," James yawned. Surrounded by a number of candy wrappers and books, the lanky seeker was playing a game of solitaire.

"There's something…not right about that girl. I can't place my finger on it." Sirius looked out the window and wondered what time it was. There were a hundred better things and people he could have been doing. So why wasn't he doing them? He wasn't sure himself.

"Look, I know you're all sure she's hiding something. I think you just can't get over the fact that she's making Remus miserable."

"He won't even tell us what's going on. All he does is mope around more every day. It's got to be her."

"_Please_, Sirius. She's a woman- they're born to make men miserable."

"I'll be sure to tell Lily you said that." James chuckled at that, throwing his cards aside in boredom.

"She knows perfectly well how cruel she can be."

"I think we should talk to her."

"Oh? Finally deciding to go to the source instead of sneaking around like an idiot?" Sirius blushed slightly; James was right.

"Let's do it after the banquet tonight. I'm so fucking bored with this, and I bet Lily's wondering where we've gotten off to."

"Alright, tonight then."

* * *

Hermione dozed against the wall where she'd been sitting all day. Dusk cast a rosy glow through the glass windows of the hallway, illuminating lazy dust particles as they floated through the still air. A few pictures yawned and stretched in their frames, no longer paying any attention to her. Her stomach growled loudly and her head felt light, reminding her that eating was not an optional event. The muscles and joints all through her body groaned and begged to be moved. Hermione's long, messy hair was coming down from its bun, and her soft brown eyes felt incredibly dry.

Footsteps approached from down the long corridor, barely registering in her hazy mind. With everyone running around and preparing for the night's festivities, nobody had paid her any mind all day.

Fingers touched her forearm lightly, causing her to stir. Her eyes squinted open to find a familiar face only inches from her own, looking concerned and a bit frightened. A shock of enormous proportions jolted through her body, electrifying every inch of skin and kicking her insides. She squirmed and wrenched herself away from him, blinking hard with the effort of waking up.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You looked so lifeless, I thought-" he tried to spit out hurriedly, stumbling back from her. Hermione coughed and choked for a moment, her throat raw as she tried to speak. She looked almost green, doubtlessly ill, and Remus cautiously approached her again.

"_DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!" _she cried out in panic, raising her bandaged hand as if to hold him back. There were so many other things she wanted to say, other ways to tell him she was okay, that he couldn't be near her, but it all came out the wrong way in a surge of fear. Her wide eyes stared at him, still trying to focus and register as her head reeled from panic and low blood sugar.

Lupin imagined her reading his soul, touching every secret, telling him that she knew exactly what he was. Hermione's cry resounded in the quiet hall; pictures crowded into nearby frames to see what all the fuss was. Teary-eyed and full of shame, Remus Lupin scrambled to his feet and took off down the hall.

"_Goddamn it!" _Hermione cried through gritted teeth. Her fingers dug into her hair and pulled harshly in frustration, crushing her bandages against the open flesh of her hand.

_I can't wait for Dumbledore a second longer. I can't stay here anymore!_ _You fucking idiot, Hermione. You absolute fool._

* * *

Remus burst into the Gryffindor common room, wiping away the tears that had escaped his sorrowful eyes. His mouth quivered with the force of trying to hold it all in. The rest of the Marauders noticed immediately and pulled him aside from the crowd of rowdy Gryffindors around them.

"Moony?" James asked quietly. "Moony, what's wrong?" Remus shook his head miserably and slipped to the ground weakly.

"You can't go on like this any longer. We're your friends, Moony- there isn't anything you can't tell us."

"…she knows." He whispered, burying his head into the palms of his hands.

"What are you talking about?" Sirius' deep voice asked soothingly.

"_Hermes_," came Remus' muffled voice.

"What exactly does she know?" James asked, mirroring Sirius' tone.

"She knows what I am. Goddamn me, she _knows_," he moaned, his tears threatening to spill furiously down his scarred face. James looked down at him thoughtfully as Sirius knelt and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"You're just stressed, Moony. You imagine things like this sometimes." Remus looked up and wiped away at the tears that traced lines down his drawn face. His eyes were hard.

"No, not this time."

"If she does know, which I doubt," James chimed in, "would she tell anyone?"

The young werewolf gripped at his face in frustration. "No, I'm her only friend. That's so sad, isn't it? Her only friend, a bloody _werewolf_…"

"Hey!" Sirius barked. "Don't talk like that. You're a good man, Moony!"

"I'm not a man, Padfoot." Remus sighed darkly. The exhausted young man pushed himself up off the ground and left quickly for the sanctuary of his dormitory room. The other Marauders watched him go in silence.

"What if he's right?" Sirius asked.

"We got Snivellus to shut up, right? Maybe we can swear Hermes to silence as well."

James whistled to himself, running a hand through his messy black hair. "That's a shame, you know. The only people besides us and Dumbledore who know are Shit Eaters…"

Sirius stopped breathing for a moment. "_What?_" he hissed.

"Bollocks, I wasn't going to tell you. I knew you'd take all this the wrong way, because now you're going to think about your family and all the crazy shit they do…"

"What the fuck are you talking about? Get to the point, James."

"That break in at the Department of Mysteries, you heard about that."

"Yeah, sure."

"That was her. At least, that's what I've heard."

"_Are you serious_?" he asked in disbelief. That miserable, slip of a girl that haunted the library had broken into one of the most secure areas of the wizarding world?

James nodded solemnly. "It makes sense, if you consider everything. And she's awful close with David Starlan. Justin was telling me how cozy they get in double potions."

Sirius stood suddenly and started a brisk walk towards the hallway.

"Where are you going?" James asked nervously. Sirius' face was completely blank, all the emotion in it carefully hidden.

"Just going to check something out. Be back later."

James frowned at his best friend. "That means you're not coming back until morning! Damn it, Padfoot, don't do something stupid!"

* * *

**Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death.**

**-Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey**

* * *

**Author's Note**: What is Sirius going to do? Is Hermione in danger? Is it even possible for things to turn out okay after all this mess? Find out next in _Black at Heart!_

All reviews and comments are adored!


	7. Black at Heart

**Author's Note: **A reminder that this story is AU. Hermione is not the bookworm wuss that chooses Ron over all the other hot guys in the book. She is a soldier and the only survivor of the Order. This changes her personality a bit, yeah?

It's been a long damn time since a fresh chapter. All six other chapters have been cleaned up and re-edited, which they desperately needed. They kind of sucked a bit, and confused a lot of things. I recommend going back and reading through them again, if you've been following this at all, since they make more sense now.

I'm without a Beta, what can I say?

* * *

Usually, Sirius Black strutted casually through the halls of school with the smuggest of smiles. That night, however, his grey eyes burned with a dark fire as he stomped through the enormous castle. His strong shoulders were tense and his back was as straight as an arrow, ready to pierce someone's heart, and it was a daunting sight to see. Hogwarts' favorite playboy looked armed and dangerous, like he belonged back on the ol' Black family tree.

Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor dormitory as best she could, gripping her cramping side with one hand and pushing at her throbbing temple with the other. Her wavy hair had fallen completely out of its customary bun and tumbled around her shoulder blades in a tangle. She sniffled a bit as she made her way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, walking the long way around the floor and taking her time. It was a full thirty minutes before she crawled into the gold and crimson common room, which was empty.

_The feast must have begun already. Thank God._

Her cheap, soft-soled shoes dully echoed as she trudged up the steps to her room. Hermione threw a few belongings into a small steam trunk at the foot of her four poster. It wasn't much- a few useful books and pieces of parchment paper, a handful of robes, some basic toiletries, and a single Sickle that rolled loosely along the bottom. The rest she left neatly stacked on the top of her sheets, since none of it really belonged to her. It didn't take long.

Aside from the dim light of a gas lantern, the room was quiet and covered in shadows. Hermione took a deep breath and dipped her quill in ink before settling it over a small sheet of clean parchment. The handwriting was awkward and cramped, and the words came out slow as she tried to force her left hand to move smoothly. When she was finished, Hermione stuffed the letter hastily into an envelope she marked 'Dumbledore' and settled it on her pillow.

* * *

James waited until he heard the muffled thud of the portrait closing shut. The tall and thin quidditch player slipped his wand out of his pocket, hopped down the steps of the boys' dormitory and casually sauntered towards the girls' staircase.

"Godiva chocolate," he sighed, tapping one of the banisters with his wand three times. The stone steps shuddered for a second and let out a loud groan, but they remained steadfast as charged his way up and slipped inside the room that both Hermione and Lily shared. It was painfully obvious which bed belonged to 'Hermes'. He blinked a few times, registering the meticulously laid out books and folded clothes, and the empty space where a trunk should have been. A sigh escaped his lips again and he ran a hand through his shock of black hair. This did not look good, if their suspicions were right in any measure.

The seeker started to lazily flip through the pages of the books with one hand, finding not even the slightest of ink splotches on their pages. There were no hidden items wrapped up in her clothes, no carvings of the Dark Mark on her furniture, no spells or traps waiting for some poor soul to discover them.

"A Death Eater wouldn't leave these things behind," James muttered and shook his head. "She's got traces of herself all over these- hair, fingerprints, scent. Hell, _I _could track her down. It's got to be something else."

From just outside the common room came the subdued sound of someone's voice and the shrill reply of the Fat Lady. James reached out to snatch the letter lying on the bed, hesitated for a second, and then crammed it into his pocket. His lanky legs took the steps four at a time before launching him into the nearest chair. Behind him, the staircase shuddered and groaned again, returning to normal.

Sirius slipped inside, radiating frustration and fury. His best friend quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What's got your knickers in a wad?"

"Is she here?"

"She packed her things and left, Padfoot. I doubt we'll see her again. _You_ should rela- Oh come on! Get back here, you bastard!"

The portrait clicked shut. James rolled his eyes, but made no motion to go after Sirius.

* * *

The beaten steam trunk levitated a few feet behind her as she shuffled towards the grand front entrance of Hogwarts. It dipped downwards and lifted upwards sporadically, hardly able to keep balance as her mind drifted in a thousand different directions. Her bleary eyes stared at the intricate carvings of snakes, lions, badgers and ravens that covered the enormous wooden doors, looking but not really seeing.

Someone was approaching her, scurrying down the steps and stomping closer, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet atrium. Before Hermione could take three steps towards the door a hand wrapped mercilessly around her arm and turned her around. The floating trunk dropped to the ground with an incredible crash, spewing her papers and things in every which way.

"You and I need to talk," Sirius hissed. She sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes widening and then narrowing to a scorching glare. He matched her look with as much distaste as possible.

_You bastard. You selfish, egotistical, no-good bastard. Do you know what kinds of _hell_ we went through? DO YOU? What Harry went through? What _I _went through for Harry? And Remus… DAMN YOU, Sirius Black. Damn you for going off and getting yourself killed like a moron. _

He jerked her forward, practically dragging her towards the dungeons. Hermione struggled and cried out for help, but there was no one around to hear her. Her mind played over the thousand simple spells and tricks she knew to get away, wishing desperately that she _could_ use them since she wasn't strong enough to slip out of his grasp. It was a silly thing to wish- it would be disastrous to harm anyone from the past, especially him.

Adrenaline pumped through her system and overwhelmed her weak heart as they neared the entrance to the potions classroom. It was dark, silent, and secluded down there- anything could happen.

"What do you know about Remus Lupin?" he asked, pushing her forcefully against the cold, slimy stone of the dungeon wall.

"That he wouldn't want you doing this." Her lips, too pale to be considered pink, were curled up in distaste. Sirius paused for a moment, considering her comment.

"You've been messing with his head, toying with his emotions, playing on his fears… And you're doing it for a reason. What else are you planning? What is it you know about him?"

Hermione titled her chin up in defiance. His fingers dug harder into her arm, sending waves of pain through her body. She took a deep breath and bit down on her tongue- there was no way she was going to give him that satisfaction.

"I don't go easy on Shit Eaters," he growled.

"You think I'm in league with You-Know-Who? You're out of your Goddamn mind. They don't much like Mudbloods like me."

"…you're a liar."

"And you," she hissed back, "are nothing but an oversexed, arrogant bully who doesn't give a damn about anybody but yourself! You selfish, horrible-"

"I'm doing this for Remus!" he roared. His handsome exterior was shaken, his confidence slipping. Hermione swallowed hard and prepared to push farther. He needed to be caught completely off guard- his sharp eyes kept glancing towards her hands, making sure she had no wand to defend herself with.

"Ha! Some friend you are! Remus wouldn't want you to raise hell in his name. But no, you can't _stand_ that you don't have any control over this situation. For the first time in his life, something is bothering him _and it has nothing to do with you_." Sirius looked at her in amazement.

"That's it, isn't it?" She continued, trying to hold on to the rush of energy the adrenaline gave her. It was wearing off. "Since you can't get him to listen to you, you have to come after me. Does it feel good to beat up on a crippled girl? Since your charms aren't hypnotizing me you have to turn to the only thing you know- _violence."_

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he whispered earnestly. The fire in his eyes was dying out, replaced with shame. "But I absolutely need to know what you know about Remus."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you. And there's no way you can pull it out of me. In a fair fight, Black, you wouldn't last long against me."

His anger returned, fingers digging even harder into her soft skin. The pain was almost blinding, and Hermione had to blink away spots from her vision.

"What would you do to me? Use some of that dark magic that got you into the Department of Mysteries? What kinds of terrible things are you planning to do to me, or Remus?"

"Who are you to accuse me of using dark magic?" she laughed weakly, trying pathetically to look calm and in control. "There's more darkness in your heart than I could ever manage to gather in myself." Sirius twitched, uncomfortable. This was getting personal.

"Those years of abuse nearly swallowed your heart up, didn't they? Years of training in the dark arts with the people who were supposed to love you and care for you. There's a monster inside you, isn't there? Do your friends know all the terrible things you've done?"

His hand slammed against the wall only inches from her head. Hermione jumped, but she did not cower. Years of research and countless hours of Remus' company had laid bare the past, the details only now stirring in her damaged mind. He'd told her things that he refused to tell Harry, too afraid to reveal the flaws of his father, godfather and their closest friends. It was his way of seeking forgiveness- she was his personal confessional. As long as Hermione had told him everything was okay, he kept talking, and he could keep letting go of the past.

Which was now her present.

"You're changing the subject. I see you know plenty about me, but what do you know about Lupin?"

"They don' t know, do they?" Her voice came out in a raw whisper. "You used to watch muggles being tortured and practice spells on poor, innocent animals. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Do you miss your mummy and daddy patting you on the head and telling you what a good, filthy Pureblood you are?"

"SHUT UP!" Sirius' hand, strong and large, wrapped around her throat in the blink of an eye. There was barely any pressure there, but it was enough for her to choke on her words. Stars exploded over her vision, yet Hermione managed a cold, wry grin.

"Am I the poor, innocent animal now? You think Remus wants you to beat me into submission just to protect his secret? I'd rather die than hurt him like that, but I suppose you wouldn't understand love and loyalty like that. Jesus, Sirius, you really are a Black at heart."

He turned his head away for a second, shutting his eyes in defeat. Hermione didn't have but a moment- his suffocating grip seemed to only tighten with her every word. Her fingers slipped down and touched her wand, readjusting it in her pocket so that it faced his chest squarely. With any luck, the shot would miss his heart.

Sirius looked back at her with the curious eyes of a dog, brow furrowed in contemplation. Was this the mind game of a Death Eater? He gazed over her brown irises like he was looking for answers there, needing to know who she was and how she could possibly know the dark, painful secrets of his childhood. Hermione took a deep breath.

"Protego!" she murmured. His lips moved like lightning the moment her mouth opened, breathing words that were suddenly drowned out by her own cry of pain.

It's only natural that Sirius would have the advantage in the situation. She was weak, flushing cold and hot, struggling to talk and breath normally. He was furious, empowered by his confusion and anger, and the lightning reflexes he had learned as a child were still fresh. Hermione had only seen him fight when he was a middle-aged and out of practice man.

Her spell bounced off his shield as if she'd done no more than spit at him. It hadn't been a powerful incantation, since she hadn't wanted to really hurt him, but it was enough to knock the legs out from under her when it reflected right back at her. Suddenly, Sirius' grip on her neck was the only thing holding her upwards. He let go instantly and helped her gently to the floor, his eyes wide and full of guilt. Shaking fingers tentatively touched her neck and felt Hermione's weak and erratic pulse.

"Jesus Christ, I shouldn't have deflected that, not in such close proximity. I knew better. I knew better…and I didn't care."

His arms scooped her up and cradled her closely as he charged out of the dungeons like a madman.

* * *

Her head lolled and her arms flopped like a ragdoll's with every jarring step Sirius took. The hallways were still clear, but it wouldn't be long now before the feast ended. He ran as quickly as he could, taking steps two at a time and rounding corners as tightly as a racing hound.

"…'m sorry. So sorry." she muttered. He readjusted his grip on her to bring her mouth closer to his ear, which was like readjusting the weight of a feather. "Sur-Sirius…"

"Don't talk," he commanded, forcing the panic from his voice. "I'll fix this, don't worry."

"I wasn't strong enough to p-protect…"

"Protect who?" he asked soothingly. They were so close, and her being conscious was a blessing.

"Remus."

"He's perfectly fine, Hermes. Nothing's happened to him."

"…and you…" The hospital wing was in sight now, its doors closed shut for the night.

"…Harry…"

"I'm hurrying, Hermes, I really am."

"No," she protested. "Harry." Sirius kicked his foot against the door, knocking caked dirt from his boots as he did.

"Open up!" his deep voice roared. "Pomfrey!"

Hermione choked and gasped for air again, and he looked down in horror to see a crimson streak slide from the corner of her mouth. The skin beneath his fingers was icy cold and devoid of color.

"_Sirius_," she breathed. "_Listen_."

"POMFREY! GODDAMNIT, OPEN THIS DOOR!"

"_I'm sorry I couldn't save you. But you wouldn't listen, you wouldn't stay put_…" The plain doors of the infirmary flew open with a sharp jerk. Pomfrey appeared with a snarl on her young face, her nightgown covered hastily by a half-open robe.

"What do- oh, blood and bones! Get her in! Quickly!"

The tiny witch in his arms wheezed throatily, more blood from her mouth spilling outwards. Sirius laid her out on the nearest bed and jumped back out of the healer's way. There was blood on his hands and robe now, he noticed bleakly.

"What happened?" she ordered as her hands gathered a number of thickly bottled potions.

"Don't ask me any questions, old witch. Not until she's safe."

"Get the headmaster. We may be too late…"

The doors slammed shut suddenly, and Sirius was gone.

* * *

The dying light of sunset cast glowing shadows on the scarred and weary face of a young man. His body slumped low in his chair, legs stretched out and resting on the edge of the occupied hospital bed. His eyes, an almost golden hazel, were cold and hard. It was a look that didn't belong on his sweet face.

Someone appeared in the open doorway of the infirmary and knocked softly on its frame. The ragged werewolf stood; his joints and spine popped loudly from lack of movement. Sirius slipped past him and took his place in the stiff chair, watching his good friend walk away without even glancing at him.

* * *

"Here, don't move. I'll get it."

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and leaned against her propped pillows. Someone handed her a glass of water and she took it gratefully.

"How do you feel?"

"Like hell," she rasped, grinning a bit. It always felt good to cheat death. "What are you doing here?"

"Professor Dumbledore ordered me to keep an eye on you…and I wanted to be sure you were alright. You really had me scared." Remus' voice was warm and comforting, just as she always remembered. It was good to hear.

"Scared?" _After what I did to you?_

"I found your steam trunk by the entrance. It's all here now," he assured her, his foot kicking against something solid beneath her bed. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"…where's Black?"

"Getting some sleep." He sounded a little annoyed at the mention of his friend.

"Did he say anything?"

"Not a word. He said you could explain it when you woke up, if you ever woke up."

"I see. I guess…I guess it's a bit fuzzy. I don't remember much."

"We already know someone attacked you, Hermes. Don't be afraid to tell me who."

"How could you possibly-" He nodded towards the black and green bruises on her arm and around her neck. Hermione touched them and flinched slightly at the soreness.

"I don't remember who. I just remember Sirius carrying me to the wing."

"He carried you here?" Remus asked incredulously. "I thought, maybe…"

"That he had attacked me?" she offered. He shrugged.

"Your blood was all over him, but he refused to say why."

"Oh." Hermione settled more comfortably against her pillows, wishing she had a toothbrush or even a comb to tame the tangles of her long hair. The Gryffindor Prefect stood as if to leave her in peace, but hesitated.

"Could you answer me something, Hermes? Just to set my mind at ease."

"Anything." She sighed. It was too late to push him away now. She and Dumbledore would have to worry about wiping memories and fixing the past later.

"How did you know? About…about me, that is. I know you know, I can feel it." She didn't even have to wonder what he was talking about. _It wouldn't hurt to tell him the truth, not when I'll take it from him later._

"I knew a werewolf once," she began softly, watching for Remus' reaction. He let out a sharp exhale of breath. "The best man I ever knew. He was my mentor, my friend, and my source of strength when I needed him most. And I…I miss him." Hermione looked uneasily at him, unsure whether to continue.

"Please, continue. Please."

"He was stronger than I gave him credit for," she continued sadly. "We went through so much loss together. But he always knew how to comfort me, and he always had my back in a fight. You know," she laughed, "I'll never forget the nights of the full moon. Just looking at the sky brings back good memories. He'd be in so much pain, even with the potions, but he'd still want to talk with me. If I was there, he said, he could feel more human."

Tears sparkled in her brown eyes, slipping unbidden down her face; the first time in a long, long time she had allowed herself to cry. Remus felt a pang of jealousy as he watched her lips form the words that were her most personal moments. Whoever this werewolf was, she cared for him. _She wasn't afraid of him_. There was trust, and friendship, and _no fear_. Whoever this werewolf was, he was so damn lucky.

"Where is he?" Remus dared to ask, emboldened by her story.

"…that man is no more." It was a strange way to say it, but Hermione didn't know how else to put it.

"I'm so sorry." Lupin said, his eyes downcast. But she reached for his rough hand and squeezed it gently with her freshly bandaged one. Pomfrey had been kind enough to keep it wrapped up and away from prying eyes.

"Don't be," she said. "It isn't your fault. It never was to begin with."

"Get some sleep, Miss Graingier. I don't want another scare like this," he said as he settled her hand back down at her side. There was a smile on his face as he turned to walk away.

Her eyes fluttered shut before he could even leave them room.

* * *

**They say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.**

**-Andy Warhol**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hermione is now tied up with the Marauders, but there's still hope to save the past from changing. Can Sirius make up for what he's done? Will Hermione finally overcome her ill health? Find out next in 'Dog Day Afternoon'!


	8. Dog Day Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

This is an AU story. Events have happened differently than in the books, which means the characters have progressed differently.

Also, my apologies that Hermione has been so damn boring. But this chapter starts a change, I promise.

Another apology for all the flowery language. I'm just a novice writer, and I have no Beta to beat my ass for it. I promise to go through and re-edit, _again_.

**Question answered:** Yes, the close proximity of the Protego spell caused Hermione internal bleeding. I'd like to think of the spell as a single punch in the kidney from a very angry bare-knuckle boxing champion. At close range, with little travel distance and thus minimal force lost, it would SUCK.

I know I portray James as an uncaring asshole, but that's how I see him. I think him joining the Order and fighting You-Know-Who had to do with Dumbledore implicitly asking and Lily bending his arm. He reminds me of a more refined Mugen from Samurai Champloo, if you know that show.

**P.S.** Lily and Snape forever.

* * *

The sound of tennis shoes on wet grass interrupted the silence of the morning. The chill of late autumn drew goosebumps on Hermione's skin and made her breath visible, but it didn't bother her.

She was keeping a pathetic pace. Moody had always been adamant about exercise, and he would have cringed to see her now. _You can know all the spells in the world and have the greatest battle plans every devised, but none of it means dick if you can't outrun your enemy. _But that's the way it always starts- one pathetic jog at a time. Jogs turn to sprints, and sprints turn to full-out runs. One easy defense spell that can barely keep an enemy away turns into a complex combination of spells that can keep an entire house hidden and safe.

Out there on the grounds, there was nothing but the sound of her footsteps and the pounding of her heart in her ears. There were no worries about the future, no mistakes, no promises to keep. There were no ghosts and no enemies to run from.

There was only peace.

* * *

"I feel tired just _watching_ her," James muttered. But his eyes weren't looking at Hermione; they were on Sirius. The attractive boy was sprawled out on the grass, absorbing the lukewarm heat of the sunlight. _He _was watching Hermione, and the intensity of it was unnerving. Remus stood as she jogged closer, stepping over a sleeping Peter to meet her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"Better," she panted. Her lips tugged up into a tiny smile, and he gave a small smile in return.

"The Headmaster just returned from the Ministry this morning. He's leaving tonight again for a council meeting of some sort, so you'd best see him before he leaves."

She nodded, her long ponytail bouncing with the motion. Her curly hair spilled past her shoulders now, and it desperately needed a trim. For a brief second her eyes wandered, catching Sirius' grey eyes, and Hermione wasted no time in picking up the pace of her jog again.

* * *

"I trust you're feeling better?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you care to tell me what happened?"

"I got into a fight with my past." Dumbledore looked thoughtful at this. Fawkes, glowing beautifully on his nearby perch, let out a soft croon.

"It's still not safe for you to leave. I don't care to imagine the horrors in store for you if a Death Eater were to find you. You hold a lot of precious answers that the Dark Lord would love to know. How…intertwined are you with your past?"

"Intimately. My mind was too muddled to remember they were here, and I apologize for that."

"It wasn't your fault, my dear."

"This _is_ all my fault. And now I've jeopardized all our futures."

"All is not lost," the old man chuckled. The young witch across from his desk looked confused. "You seem to think you're telling me about the end of the world. But so far, Hermes, you've only given me hope. Hope that, somewhere in the future, there is a way to fight this darkness that is swallowing our world."

"But what if I've changed things?"

"Do you know the odds of surviving the kind of journey you took? They're rather depressing. For you to be alive is a miracle in and of itself. For you to be _here_, surrounded by people that are familiar to you, is an act of God."

"You think I was _sent_ here on purpose?"

"I think there's a reason you are here. I trust you to make the right decisions, Hermes. If you change things, I imagine they're for the best."

"What if I've made a mess?" His blue eyes glittered rather coldly behind his half-moon spectacles, and it sent a chill through Hermione's spine.

"Then clean it up, whatever it takes."

* * *

The library was eerily quiet when Hermione entered. No turning pages or books sliding off shelves or whispers. A handful of girls were staring daggers in her direction, she noticed curiously. The gaggle all stopped what they were doing, rose nearly simultaneously, and slipped out into the hallway like an angry wind. None of the boys in the library seemed to understand either. She shrugged to herself and headed towards her usual spot- the table near the Restricted Section. _School girls never change. Whether they're Slytherins like Milicent or my own damn roommates, they love to bully._

Hermione busied herself by sweeping her hair, a mess of uncombed curls, into a tight bun. Distracted by the small handful of knots hiding in her hair, she almost didn't see David Starlan until she collided with his chest. Her brown eyes blinked, face to face with David's nipple.

"You truly are one of the clumsiest girls I've ever met." She glared up into his emerald green eyes at that, which brought a smile to his face.

"Well, one of the prettiest clumsy girls."

"What do you want?" she asked, exasperated. It was so hard to try and make an enemy out of someone that just didn't take the rivalry seriously.

"What a question! I have a few answers to that, but none of them appropriate for this moment. Let's just say I wanted to see how you were doing. And you are, by the looks of things, doing _wonderfully_." It wasn't quite a leer, but the Slytherin Prefect didn't hide his admiring gaze.

"You've finally gotten some color to your skin. It looks good."

"One of these days I'm going to figure out just what you're planning."

"Mm, you're giving me too much credit. I don't have the imagination it takes to form an elaborate trap. You know, Hermes, one of these days you're going to have to say something nice to me."

"_Bugger off, David_."

"Fiesty as ever," he sighed. "But you used my first name. Such an intimate gesture!" Starlan winked and let out a hearty laugh. It made his eyes positively sparkle.

"It's a start, at least. And I _do_ want another look at your hand, Hermes, if you're still interested in knowing what I want." With that, he abruptly turned and disappeared. Hermione slunk down into a chair, holding her head in her hands. That Starlan had caused her a massive headache.

"...hey, I thought I heard your voice. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

She glanced up at Remus, her eyes narrowed with the pain of her migraine. The weary-looking boy raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I promise, I don't bite."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in return. After a beat, Remus caught on as well. His soft hazel eyes were the size of saucers as he backtracked his words.

"Oh, _no_. No. I mean, that's not what I meant. Oh God, that's the worse werewolf joke _ever_." She started to chuckle, and he chuckled as well, moving to sit by her side. The chuckles grew into giggles, and then into downright gasps of laughter. Doubled over their books, Remus and Hermione smiled at each other.

* * *

"Are you even listening to me?"

"No," Sirius muttered. He sat on the edge of the windowsill by his four-poster bed, looking out onto the grounds.

"What's caught your attention?" James perked up, walking to his best friend's side. "I don't see anything worth drooling over."

Sirius scowled at the comment. "I never drool."

The scruffy-looking quidditch player squinted his eyes as he searched the school grounds just a little more closely. It was late in the day, and many people were already moving inside for dinner in the Great Hall.

"Ah…I see. You know, you could do a helluva' lot better than that."

"Shut up, Prongs."

James moved back to his bed, searching through the sheets for something he'd misplaced.

"What did you do to her?"

Grey eyes briefly glanced away from their vigil at the window. "I didn't do anything. What makes you say that?"

"Padfoot, Hermes has been avoiding you since Madame Pomphrey let her out of the hospital wing. And you've been watching her like a hungry hippogriff."

"Awfully observant of you."

James shrugged. "Lily mentioned it, more like. But are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened." Sirius said shortly.

"You got forceful with her, didn't you?" Potter asked, his voice almost giddy. Black suddenly stood and stalked towards the door.

"Don't know what you mean."

"Come on, Padfoot!" James laughed. "It's alright, I know Hermes is uptight. You were just trying to loosen her up a little, right?" Sirius paused at the doorway, throwing a less-than-amused glance behind him.

"I would never-"

"Look, she's skittish! You probably just scared her, that's all. I mean, I've never known you to go for…well…"

"_Well what?"_ Sirius hissed. James threw him an equally unamused look.

"Innocent. You usually just tease the bookworms and mess with their minds a little, not actually go for them."

"It isn't like that," the young Black sighed dismissively.

"Come on, Padfoot. It doesn't bother me. Did you pin her against a wall or something? Remus said she had bruises on her neck." A smile came back to James' face, devious and encouraging. "You really are a dog!" he laughed.

Sirius slammed his fist against the doorframe, silencing his best friend.

"You should hear it from me first." Potters' voice was cold, all traces of humor gone. "Lots of people think it's strange- the shy, mysterious new girl, always near you. And they way you look at her…the other girls don't like it."

"It isn't _me_ she's near, it's Moony."

"She may be hanging around Remus, but you pay more attention to her than you do that little gaggle of yours that walks in your shadow."

"Where are you getting all this?" Sirius snapped. James grinned goofily, back to his old self.

"Lily, of course."

"What else does she know?"

"That you're still Hogwarts' favorite playmate of the year. Hermes doesn't stand in very good light, though. For a quiet girl, she's getting a pretty bad reputation."

"…I'll be back later."

"Take your time, old friend." James chuckled as Sirius finally slipped quietly out of the dormitory. "You're going to need it with that one."

* * *

She was slowing down from her daily run by the time he padded out from the forest. Hermione threw herself down on the grass near the lake's edge, taking in deep, cold breaths of air. She settled her bandaged hand on her stomach and slipped her other one into her hair, trying to tug out the elastic band holding her wild hair back.

Behind her, a group of girls were calling out in sweet, baby-like voices to a dog somewhere nearby. Suspicious, Hermione turned to look behind her.

A huge black dog sat on its hind legs, its shaggy tail thumping against the ground. She blinked at it for a moment before turning back to the lake. The giant squid was out for a swim now, its tentacles sending ripples through the top of the lake.

"C'mere sweetheart! Here boy!"

"Chelsea, it could have rabies."

"Don't be a spoilsport. Anyways, he looks okay to me. C'mere boy!"

The dog ignored them, choosing instead to inch closer to the young witch in front of him. He whined and settled himself against her side, watching her for approval. She didn't move away, but she didn't look at him. The dog whined again and nuzzled her hand with a cold, wet nose. Finally, Hermione passed her hand over his coat and let it settle into the fur.

The girls gave up their calls, less then pleased at being passed over. The group went inside the castle, leaving the two alone.

The sweet oranges and reds of the dying sun reflected off the lake and brought a glow to Hermione's skin. Her face was peaceful; eyes looking forward, yet not seeing a thing. Her hand absently stroked the rough coat of the dog by her side. The black mutt had settled his head on the top of her knee, ears smoothed back in sadness. Her sadness radiated to him, in her scent and her touch. Hermione said nothing, but continued to rub his ears and scratch that hard-to-reach spot on the back of his neck. Sirius felt sleepy under her ministration.

A slight breeze drew across the water and teased itself through her hair; a few curly locks brushed against the dog's muzzle. The scent of lavender suddenly overcame the smells of the water, the grass, the wind, and all the remnants of people and creatures that had roamed the grounds that day.

"It's okay," she finally whispered to him.

The dog perked up suddenly, looking past Hermione to someone approaching.

"Is that flea-bitten thing bothering you?" Remus asked, nodding towards the dog at her side. He looked tired, as usual, but his eyes held a sternness to them. Hermione smiled up at him and shook her head.

"No, he's fine."

"Alright then."

Remus extended his hand, which she accepted, and he helped pull her off the ground. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact with her soft skin.

"Let's get some food. You're probably starving."

She nodded and walked with him towards the great, carved doors of Hogwarts. The black dog watched until the two disappeared inside, then padded back towards the forest. A minute later, a handsome young man emerged from the trees.

* * *

A number of people lounged in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Someone had gotten a hold of a bottle of Firewhiskey and was passing it around to anyone that wanted a sip. Peter, having had a sip too many, was snoring at the foot of James and Sirius, who occupied the couch. Remus had vacated his spot in the high-back arm chair for Hermione and was sitting on the edge of the fireplace.

"Ahem. So."

"Yes, right. _So_." Remus and Hermione, diligently working on their homework, looked up wearily at Potter and Black.

"We were thinking…I mean, since we're all friends here, and friends _share_…"

"Well, nobody wants to share what _you've_ got, Padfoot," James interjected. "It's contagious, and takes ointments and creams to get rid of."

"…anyways, Hermes, since we all have that transfiguration essay due tomorrow…"

"You don't have to help them." Remus spoke up, giving them an even look. She chuckled. James leaned forward, offering the Firewhiskey that had been passed to him to Hermione. She shook her head, and Lupin crinkled his nose at the incredibly strong smell of alcohol.

"You should confiscate that," Sirius said seriously. Remus scowled, and James retracted the bottle.

"Anyways, it'll be a pain if the two of us have to share Moony's paper. It takes too long, and then we both have to reword his paper. He uses the longest and most complicated words he can, just to toy with us. Honest."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then reached down into her backpack and took out a few parchments of paper. James smiled deviously and took them from her.

"Well done, Hermes."

"You're welcome."

"You shouldn't have done that," Remus sighed, shaking his head. His thin, brown hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away.

"Why not?"

"Because now that you've done it once, they'll expect you to do it _all_ the time."

"Well, I'm used to it." She shrugged.

"Hey, what's that?" Sirius asked, pointing to a small box next to Hermione's bag. Before she could even glance down, James picked it up and threw it to Sirius.

"Give it back!" she warned, but there wasn't a real force to her threat. Black ignored her and opened up the box with his wand.

"Food?" James asked eagerly.

"What the hell are these?" he asked incredulously, pulling out a pair of eyeglasses. The lenses were enormous and thick, the frame heavy and black. Sirius put them to his face, blinked, and pulled them off. He threw them at Hermione, who caught them and put them on.

"I hate to tell you this, Hermes, but those glasses just ate your face. You're just hair, robes, and thick, black glasses now."

"You couldn't have gotten something smaller? More flattering and feminine? Those are _men's_ frames," Sirius sighed, shaking his head.

"I think they look good." Remus shrugged, not looking up from his homework.

"Yeah, well, you _would_ think so. You've always had that librarian fantasy," James muttered. Lupin rolled his eyes.

"You'd better go copy that essay," Hermione spoke up. "I'm getting it back first thing in the morning, whether or not you've finished with it."

"But Transfiguration isn't until after lunch tomorrow!"

"First. Thing. Tomorrow."

James scowled, grabbing Sirius by the sleeve and dragging him up the stairs towards their dormitory. Remus chuckled and glanced up at her, and she smirked at him in return. The two continued their work in comfortable silence.

_This feels so familiar... This feels like home._

* * *

**The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.**

**-Mahatma Gandhi**

**

* * *

****Author's Note:**

So, Peter sleeps through most of this story. I've never spat out a chapter this quickly- I'm rather proud of myself. But I do hate the way it looks- all spaced out. But I don't know how else to structure it! Anyways, Hermione has wrapped herself up in the lives of the Marauders. Her relationship with Remus is growing deeper, and she has a new friendship with Sirius that she's never had before. What will come of it? What does David Starlan want with her? What will James do with her letter to Dumbledore that he stole? Keep reading for the answers, and enjoy the next chapter- 'Howl'.

**P.S. **Anybody feel like Beta-ing? I'm tired of going through my own work and not getting things right.


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